


The Long Leash: Injured Incubus

by Ryoko21



Series: The Long Leash [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mentions of Underage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Toys, Sexual Lessons, Sexual Slavery, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture, Traumatic Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryoko21/pseuds/Ryoko21
Summary: The sixth and final asset has joined Zeke's team - an experienced pleasure asset named Dodger, who nearly lost his life before Zeke could take him. Dodger could be a wealth of information for Zeke, who has struggled to understand the complexities of the Leash society. But Dodger has a long recovery ahead of him, and struggles with his own demons as he settles into the team.
Relationships: Dodger/Zeke, Dodger/Zero, Dodger/Zero/Kip, Others to be added, Zeke/Zero, Zero/Kip
Series: The Long Leash [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/316709
Comments: 181
Kudos: 377





	1. Endings and Beginnings - Zero POV

Dodger stays heavily drugged and semi-lucid for the better part of two days. Despite this, there is an almost constant flow of jokes and puns while he’s awake. 

His humor varies from light: “Why am I still naked all the time? Lee, if you’d wanted to get my clothes off, you could have just asked.” 

To the unintentionally dark: “Damn, this is good stuff. Can I take this little cocktail with me? You could set all the owners loose on my ass, I wouldn’t even care.”

To the somewhat twisted: “Did you have to cut me open? It’s not like those bastards aren’t already trying to make more holes to fuck.”

At first, I think that he’s simply hardened to the trauma, and his humor proves that he’s been unaffected by this assault. However, after holding his hand for the better part of a day and feeling his pulse quicken at his wrist, I revise my assessment. Uncomfortable moment leads to increased heart rate leads to immediate attempt at humor. Not every joke is preceded by a spike in heart rate, but every spike is followed by a joke. Fear - or at least anxiety - leads some kind of quip. As coping mechanisms go, it’s not a bad strategy, especially for someone under the constant threat of violence, whose life depends on other people liking him. The drugs make it more pronounced, I think. I don’t remember his humor being so consistent before. 

There are times, however, when he forgets to cover it. When something takes him off-guard, and the persona slips. A quick movement. A loud noise. An unexpected gesture. Any might cause him to flinch, and then cover it with a bashful smile and a self-depreciating line. I take note of it and try to assess - is this a pleasure asset specific coping mechanism? Or a habit he’s developed in his unusual duration as a body slave? Is this behavior a benefit or a detriment? Do I mimic or avoid?  _ Can  _ I mimic it, or are my own habits as a combat asset too ingrained? Are we simply too different for him to teach me? And given his past, can I trust his lessons? Or will I be the one trying to correct his issues? 

Lee and I are most often present during Dodger’s convalescence. Zeke is mostly absent, a strange deviation from his normal pattern of hovering and smothering. I attribute this change to the trauma of Dodger’s purchase - Zeke seemed particularly shaken by the violent act. Ruby and Red have no real business in the medbay, although they do stop by occasionally with food. Kip is busy between his training duties, his domestic duties, and his studies for his new discipline. 

Dodger sleeps a lot, his body fighting to heal itself. Lee has him on a round of strong antibiotics, given the location of the damage and the high possibility of infection. The white diet that he was on previously is both a help and a hindrance, from what I understand. His rectum and large intestine, which took most of the damage during the assault, were clear of contaminants that could have polluted his blood or spread to the rest of his body. On the other hand, he’s dangerously under-nourished and weak, without reserves of energy to call on. It’s slowing his recovery and making his body more prone to infection. He has a low-grade fever, and Lee is constantly checking his vitals. Dodger’s heart rate remains high, and his blood pressure low. Lee says this is a normal side-effect of bloodloss and trauma, but he looks concerned when he says it. I get the feeling that Dodger isn’t progressing as fast as Lee would like, although Lee assures me that he is recovering.

Regardless, Dodger sleeps a lot. It’s not until the third day that he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Only then do I realize how unfocused he’s been, and how far we have to go before he manages to settle here. 

Dodger seems to be in good spirits, sipping on the weak cup of tea that Lee has allowed him. He holds the mug in trembling hands, using both to guide it to his mouth. I sit close, ready to intervene if his strength should fail. The door slides open and I see him glance up and grin. I turn my head to see Kip enter, wearing his white chef’s jacket over gray slacks. Probably transitioning from teaching Red to his lessons with Lee, then. He shrugs out of the jacket as he enters, revealing a long-sleeve blue button-down beneath. There’s a blue scarf wrapped around his head, covering his left eye, and the scarf’s ends flow behind him as he walks. He doesn’t always wear the scarf, although it’s more common than not. He’s painfully self-conscious of his bad eye, despite the damage being hardly noticeable. 

Kip nods at me, but his attention shifts quickly back to Dodger. I step back, giving Kip room to take my place. Other than the day Dodger arrived, Kip and Dodger haven’t had time to interact much. Between Dodger spending most of his time sleeping and Kip having such a busy schedule, I’m not sure they’ve interacted at all.

There’s the sound of a splash and porcelain hitting tile. I turn to find Dodger looking wide-eyed and pale, his hand still hovering in the air. His lax fingers tremble, having obviously lost their grip on the cup. My impulse is to move to him, but Kip is already pushing past me, moving to the side of the bed. 

“Fuck,” Dodger whispers, purple eyes following Kip’s face. 

“What is it?” I hear Kip ask. Dodger’s face is ashen, his breathing suddenly shallow and quick. I take an involuntary step closer, afraid that he might pass out. I glance over to see Lee frowning, but he doesn’t move to intervene. Kip is already close, and quickly lowers the bedrail and perches lightly on the edge of the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” Kip asks again. Dodger pushes himself up, leaning toward Kip. His hands go to Kip’s shoulders, and Kip settles on the bed more firmly, taking some of Dodger’s weight.

“Fucking… Oh honey,” Dodger says, and his voice is thick, like he’s on the verge of tears. He raises his hands to Kip’s face. “What did he do to you?”

And his fingers brush the edge of the scarf that’s tied around Kip’s head, covering his left eye while obviously indicating the problem beneath.

Kip pulls back, his hands catching Dodger’s in a firm grip. 

“No,” Kip says, his voice stern. Kip’s back is to me, so I can’t see his expression, but the line of his shoulders tenses. His body stills. He does not release Dodger’s hands, nor does he turn away from the other’s gaze. “Zeke didn’t do this.”

Dodger appears to chew on that. Almost literally, as his throat works, but no sound comes out. Kip doesn’t move, giving Dodger time to come to his own conclusion. I watch Dodger search Kip’s expression for signs of deceit, but there’s nothing to find. Finally, he just asks, “Yeah?”

Kip softens, and he releases his hold on Dodger’s hands. 

“Yeah,” Kip assures softly. “He had nothing to do with this.”

“I thought-”

“I know,” Kip interrupts. 

“But it’s-... You’re-...”

“Look,” Kip says, and pulls the scarf off. The revealed left eye is a bit discolored, and the pupil is oddly shaped. It is obviously non-functioning. It is, however, still present and whole. No one has gouged it out or irreparably damaged it, as Dodger likely thought. Given his background, it’s not surprising that he’d make such an assumption. 

Dodger raises his hand and gentle, trembling fingers brush the unmarred skin of Kip’s face. Dodger still looks pale, but some of the tension leaves him. His shoulders sag. He leans forward, bowing his head. His shoulders hitch. Then again. And suddenly he’s sobbing, his chest heaving with the force of his cries. He tries to curl in on himself, but Kip pushes his way into Dodger’s space. Kip is always so careful and precise. He gathers Dodger to his chest, mindful of all the wires and monitors still connected to the injured man. Dodger gives a token of resistance, and then seems to melt into Kip’s hold. He hides his face in Kip’s shirt, so that I can only see the shaking of his shoulders and hear his muffled sobs. 

I glance at Lee to see if he’ll intervene, but there’s an approving expression on his face. He senses my gaze and glances at me, then gestures for me to follow as he quietly leaves the room. 

In the cargo bay, he leans against the exterior wall and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Let's give them a minute,” he says. “I’d been hoping for something like this.”

“You wanted Kip to make him cry?” I ask, moving to stand next to him.

“To let him  _ vent _ ,” Lee corrects. “He went through a trauma. He’s still processing.”

I take a moment to contemplate that, rolling around the possible implications. I put my hands in the pockets of my khakis and lean back against the wall, mirroring Lee’s pose. 

“How long will it take?” I ask. 

“What?”

“The… processing.”

He stares at me a moment, frowning. 

“There’s no set amount of time. Sometimes it fades. Sometimes it… doesn’t.”

“Can he function? If it doesn’t?”

The frown deepens. 

“He can learn to. He’s a survivor.”

I stare at the wall. “Zeke wants Dodger to compete this year. He’s determined to enter us. If Dodger isn’t ready…”

It was a struggle to convince Zeke to get Dodger. What happens if Dodger can’t prove himself to be a strong competitor?

“Zeke isn’t the type to give up easily,” Lee points out. “He’ll help Dodger as best he can.”

What if it’s not enough, though? With Ruby already occupying the spare slot and Red making slow progress in the domestic skill, our team is weak. Lee, Kip, and I are good competitors in our primary fields, but Kip and I are novices in our secondary. Red is a novice overall, with no secondary skill. And Dodger is an uncertain bet even in his primary discipline, with no known secondary. What kind of chances do we really have of winning?

I shove away from the wall, uncomfortable with so much uncertainty. Impulse pushes me to action, but there’s nothing to do at this stage. Dodger’s body has to heal before the mental damage can be assessed. 

Back inside the medbay, Dodger has stopped crying, although only recently from the way he’s still wiping his eyes.

“Damn,” he says to Kip, and there’s that teasing tone again. “How’d you manage to make me do that?”

“Mm,” Kip responds, not bothering to move away. “I guess I just have the kind of face that makes people cry.”

It surprises a bark of laughter out of Dodger, who grins like he wasn’t just sobbing uncontrollably. 

“You little shit,” Dodger says. “You know you’re gorgeous.”

Kip smiles but doesn’t acknowledge, letting it go as another joke. Kip’s issues with his own self-worth are troubling, although I have no idea how to correct the problem. Once again, my lack of experience in interpersonal relationships hinders my ability to protect my fellow assets. In retrospect, the external threats were much easier to deal with. Although the constant parade of death and destruction did wear on my mental state, at least I felt like there was some kind of progress. Now it feels like I’m fighting blind; able to hear my opponents, but not find or attack them. Not even count them. Just throwing punches into the darkness, hoping that something hits. 

“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,” Kip says, bringing me out of my thoughts. Dodger lays back against the bed again, his eyes drooping in obvious exhaustion. 

“What, you mean better than half dead and covered in blood?”

“Well… ‘pale and unconscious,’ technically. But that doesn’t sound much better, does it?”

“Not really!” Dodger says, with a laugh that’s a bit too enthusiastic for the subject matter. Then he winces as the movement proves too much for his still-healing muscles. 

Kip pats his hand and says, “I should let you rest.”

Dodger makes a face. “Feels like all I’ve been doing is resting.”

Kip smiles as he slides off the bed.

“It will feel like that for a while. But you do seem better.”

Lee comes back in, and he and Kip move off to the other side of the room, settling on the rolling chairs and pulling out a tablet to discuss. Kip’s scholarly lessons, most likely. I move over to Dodger’s bedside again, and he looks up at me from under long lashes. His purple eyes look tired, his pupils over-dilated from the narcotics that Lee has him on. 

“You heading out?” he asks. I nod. “‘S fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”

I don’t point out that he already has one - technically two, if you count Kip. 

“I appreciate you stayin’ here with me. I mean, I appreciate… like… everything. But that too.”

I don’t know how to react to his gratitude. It is unnecessary. My actions stem from my belief that he will be a benefit to our team, and from my understanding that he belongs with us. I might question the first, but I feel strongly about the second.

I lean over and brush a stray hair from his face. He gives a slow, tired blink as I do it, but doesn’t flinch away from me. There’s something fascinating about his features, even gaunt and pallid as they currently are. His lips turn up in a small smile as he closes his eyes. I let my fingers linger at his temple as his breathing evens out. I have an odd urge to stay, even though I’m needed elsewhere. I’ve stayed too long as it is. 

I pull my hand back and turn. Kip and Lee’s quiet voices follow me into the hall, but are cut off when the door slides shut behind me. I head upstairs to the gym, passing the closed door to Zeke’s office on the way. Zeke is likely conversing with one of his owner-contacts, the red light beside the door signaling that the locks are engaged. I could bypass them using the ship’s emergency measures, but it doesn’t seem necessary. I saw Zeke this morning, so chances are slim that someone has penetrated the ship and taken him hostage since then.

I pass the office and move into the gym area, changing quickly into cotton shorts and a tanktop. Ruby is already inside, doing laps around the perimeter of the gym. I fall into step beside him, easily keeping up with his pace. After another dozen or so laps, Ruby is panting and I’ve just started to break a sweat. I slow to a stop and Ruby halts as well, doubling over as he tries to catch his breath. 

“How long were you running before I got here?” I ask, tossing him a bottle of water. He opens it and takes a drink, splashing some on his face. He’s in similar clothes to my own, with a red tanktop and black shorts that end almost at his knees. His curly red hair is getting longer, and a few stray curls stick to his forehead. His freckles stand out in stark relief against his pale skin, even on his exertion-reddened face. 

“Maybe five laps,” Ruby says when he can. 

I nod, having expected as much. It’s progress from where Ruby was just a few weeks ago. Still, it’s slow progress. There’s no chance that he’ll be on my level in the next few months. Not that he needs to be, as he currently occupies Zeke’s spare slot.

But if Dodger can’t manage to recover, will Ruby be needed? And where will he fit, if Lee and I are Zeke’s designated fighters?

We move to the matted area of the gym and I lead Ruby through the pattern that Lee designed - a mixture of punches and kicks designed to enhance my overall performance and extend my flexibility in my left side. My damaged hip has not yet recovered full dexterity, and Lee seems to doubt that it ever will. It is, however, significantly better since the surgery and Lee’s physical therapy. He still works with me twice a week to make sure the muscles and joints are recovering as they should be. 

I let myself fall into the familiar routine. Ruby stands behind, acting as a shadow. I can hear his mistakes, despite not turning to see them. Lee is adamant that I don’t correct Ruby’s martial arts forms. Ruby still watches me with a sense of wariness, and allowing me close enough to correct his forms unnerves him. He makes more mistakes, then gets frustrated with himself. Better to let him mimic to the best of his abilities, and have Lee correct him when they train together. 

Ruby’s wariness is unpleasant. It’s a reminder of a serious lapse in my control and judgement. Training him, although pointless, serves as a kind of penance. It keeps me from growing complacent in my efforts to control the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. It’s becoming easier to hold my temper, and to note the edge of my control. I’d been on the verge of losing my control at the casino, when Dodger had been assaulted. I’d managed to step away from the violence and reassess, coming up with a plan that would actually benefit Dodger, instead of causing more problems for everyone. Zeke had offered my body in exchange for Dodger’s, and I’d been able to slake several of the owners’ punishing lusts myself, cutting down on the damage to Dodger. In the end, it almost hadn’t been enough. 

I move into the fighting ring, letting Ruby take a break while I work with the shadow dummy. It’s not particularly good training for a combatant of moderate skills, but it’s the best I have available while Lee is busy with Dodger and Kip. The mechanical responses to my attacks still allow me to practice without having to concern myself with damaging the other fighter. Well… with minimal concern to the other fighter. I’ve only damaged the shadow dummy on one occasion, and that was during the early days of my temper issues. 

It’s unfortunate that Lee isn’t able to spar with me very often. His fighting style is significantly more challenging to me, and I know that practicing against me has sharpened his skills as well. During the Competition, we’ll face combatants of a similar caliber to our own. Without having seen or faced other fighters in the Combat division, it’s impossible to tell how difficult the tournament will be for us. Zeke does not want to risk attracting unnecessary attention by announcing our intention to compete. However, that secrecy could be a serious disadvantage, having us arrive at the Competition completely unprepared, with no knowledge or information regarding the other competitors and their fighting styles. 

I yield the shadow dummy to Ruby. He faces it in a fighting stance, correcting his feet when I tell him to. The padded robot mirrors him, the vaguely human-like torso moving in jerky, mechanical movements. Its reactions to attacks are preprogrammed and predictable. Still, it is a challenge for Ruby, who hasn’t yet memorized the dummy’s reactions. He struggles, and sometimes the dummy scores a hit, but for the most part he keeps up a good pace. Constant jabs and evasions. His footwork - which has always been strong - is improving steadily. His punches are gaining power and accuracy without losing speed. His body is starting to gain tone and muscle. Even his face has become leaner, with baby fat yielding to sharper, more angular lines. 

Zeke has said that he intends to keep all of us. With his roster now full and Dodger seriously injured, though, I have to question if he can keep that promise. Am I training Ruby only to keep him occupied and increase his emotional stability? Or am I increasing his value as an asset, giving Zeke the option of a more profitable sale? In which case, do my efforts harm Ruby by giving Zeke more incentive to sell him? Or am I saving the youth’s life by giving him skills that make him more valuable outside of sexual service?

Questions with no answers. Possibilities with no certainty. It’s maddening.

I wave to Ruby and call for a halt. He heads to the shower in the back of the gym, while I leave the gym entirely. 

Master Zeke is waiting for me. Standing near the door to his office, he doesn’t look surprised to see me. It’s possible that he looked into the gym and saw us finishing up, so he decided to wait. Or perhaps he knows that we usually finish around this time and clean up for lunch, after which Ruby stays to help with kitchen work. The rest of my afternoons are occupied by various tasks, including sparring, receiving physical therapy for my hip, working on my mental balance and temper control, or spending time with Kip. More recently, my evening hours have included spending time with Dodger and allowing Lee to escape the medbay and see to his own training. 

It has lessened the time that I see and interact with Master Zeke. Our schedules overlap only at meal times, and inconsistently even then. I’ve taken on the task of spending nights sleeping in the spare cot in the medbay, allowing Lee and Kip to sleep with Zeke in the Master suite. It is not purely out of altruism. Accepting that I will never be to Zeke what he is to me has been… difficult. Emotions do not respond to logic. They can only be bent and manipulated so far before they push back, bending me to their will instead of the other way around.

Kip says that I just need time and space. He’s probably right, but it’s a difficult goal to achieve. Zeke is ever-present. This ship, the other assets, even myself. We all belong to him. And now Dodger, the newest and most damaged asset so far, is here only due to my owner’s decision.

Distance has proven a problem, with the situation as it is. 

Zeke gestures to me, and I fall in step beside him. He leads me to the elevator at the end of the hall, pressing the button to take us up to the Master’s suite. 

“How’s Dodger?” he asks, his eyes staring ahead at the closed door. His voice is neutral, his body relaxed. 

“He’s fine,” I respond. “Lee would have told you if something were wrong.”

He nods at that, too. While I’ve been trying to keep distance between us, Lee has remained close to Zeke. He occupies Zeke’s bed at night, sharing the space with Kip. Eventually, Dodger won’t need someone to sleep with him, to rouse him from the nightmares or calm him when he wakes, thrashing and disoriented. Will I be expected to return to Master Zeke’s bed? Will I want to?

The elevator doors open and Zeke leads me out, then across the bedroom and into the Master bath. He cues the shower as I start to undress. When I step under the water, I’m surprised to find that he’s still fully clothed. Gray slacks and a white button down. Even his shoes are still on. But instead of entering the shower with me, he leans against the stonework at the outside edge, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” he asks. I lather a rag with soap and start running it over my arms and torso, washing away still-slick sweat. 

“Have you been avoiding Dodger?” I ask in counter. He doesn’t flinch, but his expression looks troubled. 

“I… upset him.”

“He will calm down when he gets used to you. Which he can’t do if you’re not around.”

Quiet for a moment. Then, “I know.”

I wash my hair and rinse off in silence. Zeke stays just outside the shower, a frown creasing his brow. He seems to be deep in thought, but he lifts his eyes as I step out, dripping water onto the tiled floor. 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” I tell him, then step under one of the air dryers, feeling a torrent of warm air surrounding my body. In a few seconds, I step back out, with my body dry and my hair reduced to merely damp. 

“No?” he asks when the dryer cuts off and I can hear him again.

“Not intentionally,” I admit. “I just… I needed some space.”

Zeke stares at me for a moment. I can see the confusion in his expression, the hurt underneath it. He understands the rift between us, but not exactly what’s caused it. 

I can pin it down to the moment. At the Arcrest Manor, with Lee ready to sacrifice himself on the altar of Zeke’s ambition. And Master Zeke, with a look of such desperate protectiveness in his expression. Covetous. As though Lee weren’t there through Zeke’s own manipulations. As though he’d been brought to this, and not the other way around.

Seeing the words on his lips:

“I love you. Everything that I do tonight is to protect you, and our future.”

Knowing that it was over. That I had lost him. Feeling… not really a pain, as I’d expected. But a sense of emptiness. A hole that was always there, but I’d never noticed. Realizing, for the first time, that he’d never been mine. 

Zeke turns away from me, takes a terrycloth robe from a hook by the door and hands it to me. It’s an odd move. Firstly, because I’d thought that this encounter would lead to sex. That tends to be one of the methods that Zeke uses to reassure his assets. He establishes connections through physical intimacy, both for himself and the asset. I wouldn’t have denied him. Not that I have the right. Zeke is still my Master. But also… I don’t hate him. 

The second reason it’s odd is because Zeke knows that I have no issues with nudity. Meaning that he’s offering me the robe for his own sake, and not mine. Does clothing me remove the temptation of sex from the equation? Or is he simply uncomfortable with the imbalance - where he’s clothed but I’m not?

I put the robe on and belt it around my waist. It’s sized for Zeke, so it’s big on me. I move toward the front of the room, where there is a sink and vanity, counters filled with bottles and brushes. I pick a comb up and run it through my damp hair. It’s getting long enough now that brushing is required. Perhaps I should ask Zeke about getting it cut. Too long could be a detriment to my abilities. 

Still, I kind of like it. Shaggy and messy. It never would have been allowed before. Hair was non-essential, and it was routinely buzzed. I suppose I’m lucky that it was too conspicuous to remove it permanently, as they did with my facial hair. 

Zeke settles on the divan behind me. I can see his reflection in the mirror. He reclines to the side, propping his chin on his hand. His hair - loose and golden - falls around his shoulders in a gleaming curtain. The position makes him look very regal, like a king awaiting his servants.

Or concubine. 

Still, his eyes are far away and troubled. His expression wears lines of concern. He’s not indifferent to my emotional state, or the rift that it has caused between us. 

I’m being irrational. Zeke hasn’t done anything wrong. He is under no obligation to return my feelings, nor am I entitled to expect it. I am not Zeke’s equal. I don’t have a right to address grievances with him. There shouldn’t even  _ be _ grievances - he’s not my lover. He’s my  _ owner.  _ It’s my own fault for forgetting that. And for not being as smart as Lee, who obviously figured out some way to put himself higher in Zeke’s esteem. It’s not even Zeke’s fault, not really.

He just-

It’s not his fault he-

He fell in-

Love. 

Just a word. A stupid, empty representation of a volatile, dangerous emotion. Useless. Irrelevant. 

So why do I want it so badly?

“Zero?” Zeke calls, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. I’m suddenly aware of the comb biting into my palm, where I’ve held it too tightly. I release my hold, and it drops to the table with a clatter. 

“Are you alright?” Zeke asks. 

I feel the words, “I don’t know,” rise to my lips, but I can’t get them out. I scowl at myself in the mirror, angry metallic eyes meeting my gaze. 

I shove away from the counter, turning abruptly and moving toward Zeke. I don’t realize how heavy my footfalls are until he straightens and tenses. My body is tight and primed for violence. Zeke doesn’t raise his hands, doesn’t tense for the blow as I approach. 

I drop to the floor in front of him, then lean forward until my forehead presses against his knees. We both hesitate for a long moment, and I can feel my pulse pounding in my throat, hear my own erratic, elevated breathing. Then I feel Zeke’s fingers brush against my hair, tangling in the damp strands and then sliding free. Something inside me uncoils, and my body relaxes all at once. It’s so sudden that it’s almost painful, and I have to take a shaky breath to keep from crying out. Zeke’s petting becomes more certain, gaining a pattern of gentle stroking. It makes me lean more heavily against the divan, inching forward to get closer to him. 

I want that touch. If I can’t have anything else, I still want that. 

Eventually, Zeke says, “It’s Lee, isn’t it? He’s changed things between us.” His voice is soft. Maybe not regretful, but at least wistful.

“Things were changing before Lee.” 

Or maybe they’d never been what I’d wanted them to be. Maybe I’m finally waking up to reality after a long period of self-delusion. 

Zeke reaches out and gently laces our fingers together. His hands are larger than mine, but his skin is smooth and soft. His nails are neatly cut and healthy, his joints narrow and slim, having never suffered the damage of a fighter’s hands. I have to wonder what mine feels like in his, all calluses and sinew. 

I glance at his face, and it still hits me like a punch in the gut. Pale blue eyes, like sparkling water. Those eyes started this. Before them - before they saw me, and decided to remake me, remold me, no matter how difficult or how much I resisted - before then, I was nothing. More machine than man, hollow on the inside. Now I’m overfull. Not all of it is happiness, but it’s  _ something _ . 

How do I complain that it’s not enough? When it was almost too much? When it was so much more than I deserved?

“Are we okay?” he asks, and his voice holds just a hint of uncertainty. “Or we will be, soon?”

I squeeze his hand in mine. Holding on. Letting go. 

“Yes. We’re fine.”


	2. Visit - Dodger POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope 2021 has been treating everyone well! Mine has been a bit busy. :)
> 
> Thank you for all your wonderful comments and kudos! I know I've been quieter in this section, but I do appreciate them and I will try to respond to any direct questions. I can also be reached through the Discord channel. I've been so pleased and excited to see how many people have joined up and are eager to talk. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/TYbdFUU
> 
> Thank you everyone for your kind support, and your help in making 2021 a great year!

“Hey Lee? You know I appreciate all of this, right?” I ask him, waving a hand. At myself. The hospital bed. The IV pushing nutrients and probably pain meds into me. Pretty much the whole room. 

Lee glances up from his tablet, where he’d been reading something. I assumed it was about me, but that’s a little conceited. It could be porn, for all I know.

He waves a hand, like it’s nothing to be concerned with. He only saved my life, after all. Nothing but a little life debt between us.  _ Again.  _ No big. 

“Do you-...” I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to word this. “Do you remember when you saved me back at the Arena? You used to have that rule where owners weren’t allowed to bother assets while they were healing. You remember?”

He’s looking at me now, his brow creased in confusion. He nods.

“Listen. Just…” I lick my lips again. They’re chapped - maybe from one of the drugs, or just from not being able to take care of them. My face feels puffy, my skin itchy and dry. I’m sore, and any movement of my legs or hips makes me wince in pain, but it’s been over a week now. I can sit up, can stand for a few minutes at a time. It was close, but I’m not on death’s door anymore. 

And I need to make sure it stays that way. 

“If the new owner comes to bother me, can you just let him? Please?”

“He won’t-”

“If he does,” I cut him off. Yeah, I’m not the hottest thing around right now. I’m kinda gross and really pathetic. But it’s a total crap shoot on what an owner will get off on, especially an unknown like Master Zeke. Maybe pathetic is what he goes for.

“He’s not going to pressure you for sex,” Lee says, and I snort. 

“Yeah, I doubt he wants to lose his whole investment by tearing up all your hard work,” I respond dryly. “But that’s not the only service I provide, if you catch my drift.”

There’s a hell of a lot I can do, even injured to this extent. If he’s got a modicum of courtesy, I can make it good for him without hurting myself too much. And if he’s a pushy asshole, I think I can still keep him from injuring me, as long as he’s not specifically after my ass. Especially since Lee has started to cut back on the painkillers, I’ve been a lot more lucid.

The thing is, I’ve noticed that there’s a serious lack of tall blonde around lately. Not just lack, but complete absence. I know from experience that an absent owner is a disinterested owner, and disinterested owners fucking sell their slaves. Maybe Master Zeke wasn’t looking for a broken toy. Maybe he’s just the kinda guy who wants something when somebody else has it. Maybe he started having second thoughts once I was drugged to the eyeballs, or bleeding out and screaming at him. Hell, maybe I threw up on him while I was fighting for my life - it’s not like I remember more than flashes and bits. Who the fuck knows? Whatever it is, I have to make sure I fix it ASAP, before he finds someone he likes better and decides to open up a place in his roster. 

Lee is shaking his head.

“Zeke isn’t going to bother you. Not until you’re fully healed and I give him the okay.”

“Well… give him the okay, then. I’m fine.”

“You are nowhere near fine.”

“You- He’s not going to wait forever! It could be days before I’m ready.”

“Weeks.”

“No fucking way! He’s not going to wait that long!”

Lee stares at the wall like it said something offensive. I can see the muscles in his jaw clench. He keeps staring, deliberately not looking at me. 

Shit. 

“I’m sorry, man. I know you’ve got your ‘honor and nobility’ thing. I’ll-...”

“Dodger,” he cuts me off. Still looking at the wall, but at least unclenching his jaw enough to talk. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re not… This isn’t…” He looks at me, finally, and his expression is oddly tense. “This situation isn’t like the ones you’ve faced before. It’s not… You’re not in danger anymore.”

Yeah. Fat fucking chance. 

“That’s great and all, but don’t you think it’s weird that the master hasn’t stopped down?” Owners, especially ones with small asset pools, typically like to keep an eye on their investments. “Or is that not his thing?” Maybe the guy doesn’t like hospitals. Or sick people. 

Or me.

“You did not react well to his presence the last time he was here with you,” Lee says, but he looks troubled. What did I do? I don’t remember much after getting out of the ship. “But I will speak with him.”

“No, you don’t have to-”

“It’s alright. I have a good rapport with him.”

Meaning Lee has skills that this guy needs, so Lee’s got the leverage to make demands. Not sure how that will impact my standing, though. 

“I’d like to have a shower first,” I tell him, gesturing at my lank, greasy hair. “You said soon, right?”

He nods and leans back in his chair. 

“Probably this evening. We’ll see how it goes. You’re pushing yourself pretty hard.”

It doesn’t feel like it. But then, I’m not used to having this kind of time and support to recover. It’s making me all kinds of anxious. Like... There has to be a catch, right?

“Maybe I could get Kip to scrounge me up some makeup.” They hadn’t even bothered to send my kit with me when I’d been sold this time - like being driven into the desert naked. How’m I supposed to cover up how gaunt and sickly I look without so much as a paintbrush? Not like I can do much about the state of my body, but at least my face could look half decent. 

“I’ll mention it,” Lee says, but he’s got a dismissive tone. Like it’s not a priority. Like what’s on my body isn’t just as important as what’s going on inside of it. Oh yeah, because he’s a scholarly asset, not one judged almost entirely on his outside appearance. Gee. Must be nice. 

I quash the bitterness. It’s not his fault I was born this sexy. Just fate, I guess. 

“Dodger,” Lee says, pulling my gaze back to him. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Oh?” That’s new.

“I need you to be careful.”

“Yeah yeah, stitches this, infection that. You’ve told me already.”

“No, not- I mean, yes, that  _ too _ , but not about that. I need you to be careful in your interactions here. Things are not as you expect them to be.”

“Somebody gunning for me?” I push myself up, trying to better meet his gaze. But his eyes are just sad.

“No. And that’s exactly my point. You don’t have to be so on edge here.  _ No one _ is out to get you.”

I let myself fall back to the bed. 

“I’m the new guy. The only way it would be worse is if I were the new guy and the spare.”

Spares tend to be the punching bag. Unless they’re a trainer or a prized pet, they take the brunt of the owner and even the other assets’ aggression. But I doubt that the big guy pulled me in just to push me around, or he wouldn’t have put so much effort into fixing me up. Given my skills, he might be hoping to use me as a trainer. I’d hoped to avoid that - it’s a shitty job, hard on the soul and just hard overall - but it doesn’t look like I’ll have much of a choice. 

And let's not forget, the Master passed on me in the first round of selling. Hard to tell why - maybe my price was too high. Maybe the eyes creeped him out. Maybe he liked me better with a gag in my mouth, keeping me from saying anything stupid. That makes my position here doubly uncertain, being at best an afterthought and at worst a bargain. I’ll have to prove myself to him, which is next to impossible with these injuries. If any of the other assets wants to set a hierarchy, I don’t have standing or leverage. I won’t be able to defend myself. 

“Zeke doesn’t allow that kind of in-fighting,” Lee says. That surprises me. 

“He keeps a tight grip on everybody?” I hadn’t pegged him for a micro-manager, but…

“No. He just watches for it, addresses it when it comes up. Everyone gets along okay.”

“Gotcha.” I hesitate, then, “You think-”

The door opens, and Kip comes striding through, holding a tray with several mugs on it. The interruption pretty well derails my train of thought, and I let it go. It’s not like I want to have a discussion about the other assets’ strengths and weaknesses while one of them is standing right in front of me. Not that I have any interest in going after Kip - he’s a domestic, so inherently not part of the hierarchy struggle. Also, he’s Zero’s, and if anybody’s at the top of the dogpile here, it’s lean-mean-sexy-machine. 

Actually, come to think of it, I’m not really sure what Kip’s designation is. He was definitely a pleasure slave when I first met him, but everything from his posture to his tone screamed “converted domestic”. Then he pretty much disappeared, while Zero kept showing up as a pleasure asset alone. And now Kip’s been studying with Lee, so does that make him a scholarly? Or is this just an extension of his domestic duties? Am I supposed to train him in pleasure, or is he totally done with that?

Kip puts a mug on the table next to my bed. The liquid inside is pale yellow, with a tiny bit of foam forming a ring around the outer edge. 

I give my cup a mock glare. In my hautiest voice, I tell him, “I’m fairly certain that I circled the options for steak tartare and oysters rockefeller on my menu, garcon.”

Kip grins, then tries to school his expression into something apologetic and responds, “My apologies, monsieur. We’re out of both options.” He raises his hand, hiding his mouth like he’s telling me a secret. “You simply can’t get good help in the kitchens these days.”

“I’ll bet!” I laugh, picking up the mug and toasting him with it. “Thanks man.”

He smiles, then moves over to where Lee is sitting by the counter. I sip at the warm broth. 

In all honesty, I can’t complain. The taste is leagues better than the white sludge I’d been surviving on before now. And even for broth, this stuff is good. It’s got a nice hint of saltiness, with carrot and celery flavors peeking out beneath the chicken. This didn’t come out of a packet or a can - somebody  _ cooked _ this. As a pleasure asset, it’s not the kind of treatment I’m used to getting. I’d think that maybe the kitchen just made a big pot of broth for something else and saved me some, but this tastes as fresh today as it did yesterday. Either somebody’s really good at masking day-old-fridge taste, or I’m being given more consideration than I’d expected with such a small group of slaves. 

I set the broth aside and lay back against the slightly inclined bed, then glance toward the softly conversing pair. Lee is in black scrubs, his hair pulled back in its usual severe tail. At least that hasn’t changed. His features look relaxed and healthy. It’s been several years since that last time I saw him, but he hides his age pretty well. He doesn’t look much older than me. Not that it matters for him - there’s no expiration date on scholarly. I’ve seen scholarly assets that were practically ancient, well into their fifties. 

Kip, on the other hand, looks like the reverse. Dressed in black slacks and a pale blue button-down, he looks a bit like a kid dressing ten years older than he actually is. Domestics don’t have the same shelf-life as a scholarly, but they don’t die off as quickly as pleasure. Sometimes an asset that’s too old for pleasure can get shifted over to domestic, and it seems to go okay. They’ll always be behind domestic-only trained assets, but they’re not a waste of space. 

Cross-training is fucking hard. It’s why Competition-level assets are so expensive - it’s difficult enough to make an asset really skilled in one field. Trying to train them in two is nearly impossible unless you get some kind of savant - like Lee.

I’ve never been smart enough. But then, I don’t really want to be, either. 

Kip and Lee are bending over a screen. Side by side, the differences between them are stark. Honeyed skin versus milky while. Black hair against pale gold. Dark eyes to silver. Both have a quiet intensity though. Both focused, intelligent, with hands that show the rough edges of work. 

I look at my own hands. There are some calluses building on the palms. The inside of the thumb. I’d been training a lot lately, and basically left alone by Owner Peterson. I’ll have to buff them smooth again soon. Can’t reach for my owner’s cock the first time with rough hands - that’s a damn good way to get myself sold. Could just use my mouth, though. Not like I actually need my hands for that. 

Anyway.

I reach for my cup again, wrapping my rough hands around the porcelain. It doesn’t seem to mind the texture. The warmth feels nice against my skin - I’m always cold now, because of the bloodloss. The effects of that are starting to fade, but it’s offset by my required immobility. If I could just get a good workout in, I feel like I could get properly warm. That won’t be for a while yet, though. 

I glance up just in time to see Kip flick the end of his scarf over his shoulder. It’s white today, maybe because blue would match too much with the shirt. It’s still hard to believe. From the little bits I’ve weedled out of Lee, it sounds like he lost his eye recently as the result of a sickness. Came pretty close to losing his life, from the sound of it. The Master must have a pretty big stake wrapped up in Kip, to keep him on at all. It’s lucky he had such a damn good surgeon on hand. Could the eye be fixed? Maybe replaced to hide the issue? But no, Lee would have already done it, and Kip wouldn’t be taking such trouble to hide it, if it were only temporary. 

That eye probably got him pulled from pleasure - nobody keeps a pleasure asset with such an obvious deformity. Although Kip’s personality wasn’t suited for it anyway. Domestics, as a rule, don’t make great pleasure assets. They get too used to hiding behind the scenes, they can’t get used to hiding in plain sight. Schooling their expressions into nothing, rather than throwing on a sultry smile. I’d seen some owners try to convert domestics to pleasure, or they’d occasionally come through while I was at the Oasis. It was rarely any use. They’d get a low-rent whore for twice the trouble, and those didn’t last long anyway. At least Reynard knew what he was getting, and rarely put much effort into them. It looks like Master Zeke had given it an honest try, and I could only guess how pissed he’d been when it hadn’t worked out. 

New owners… kind of suck. Still trying to get their bearings, tripping all over the place. Keeping a novice owner level and steady is a lot of damn work, not to mention dangerous. They rarely react how you’d expect them to, have expectations and demands that are just unreasonable. It’s easier with an experienced owner, when you at least know what will get you zapped and how to avoid it. Definite roles, set rules. Clear standards and expectations. New owners rarely know how to lay these out. 

But here I am. Again. 

I take a sip and then set the cup aside, exhausted. It seems like that’s about all I can do right now; talk, eat, and sleep. And even eating is a half-measure, given that I can’t have solids. 

Still, I have no complaints. I survived, which is a miracle in itself. I’m recovering in a medbay instead of a closet somewhere, and I’m under the watchful eye of a top notch doctor, so I’m not likely to die of sepsis or some weird infection. Good food, such that it is. Good company. It’s a hell of a lot more than I’ve had other times. 

I let myself drift off to the sound and Lee and Kip murmuring quietly in the background, the hum of machines and monitors next to me. Warmth in my belly from the soup, and enough drugs to dull the screaming pain in my abdomen without giving me the out of control, drifting feeling of being drugged. I’d prefer a couple aspirin and a hit of whiskey, but Lee hadn’t gone for that idea. 

Not too shabby a situation to have found myself in. 

At least… so far. 

When I wake again, Zero is holding my hand. I blink at it blearily, realizing that this should freak me out at the same time that it really doesn’t. Typically, I’m hard to sneak up on while I’m sleeping. You don’t spend years in a master’s bed without developing the habit of sleeping lightly. Nothing like getting woken with a fist or a foot to the gut to teach you not to let your guard down. The drugs in my system are probably partially to blame, but I have a feeling that it would be hard to track Zero anyway. He’s quiet most of the time, and can blend pretty well when he wants to. He’s still a combat asset, not trained by a constant need to be invisible when not in service, but he’s got considerable skills. He moves with a fighter’s grace, the threat of violence always just under the surface. 

It’s okay, though. Somehow, I don’t see him as a threat. He put himself on the altar beside me, sacrificing his body to the owners to spare mine. Do I owe him a life-debt as well? Because I certainly wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t taken some for me. Or did his owner order him to do it? Does that make a difference? 

And how many people can I owe my life to at a time? Am I running a tab? Running out of credit? Seems like it. 

“Kip left juice,” Zero says, his tone flat. Even. It might be scary for someone who didn’t know him - damn, he looks dangerous even just sitting there - but I’ve got him pegged. From the moment I saw how protective he was of Kip, I could tell. This isn’t the kind of guy to lash out at the people closest to him. No, he’s too strong, too dangerous. He’d kill them. So he keeps an even temper, keeping everything under lock and key. A little scary, but not if you know him. Not if you’re one of his. 

And, apparently, I am. 

“Thanks,” I tell him, pushing myself up. He lets me, despite the way I wince. He doesn’t hover or fuss like Kip might, doesn’t try to raise the bed like Lee typically does. Just lets me squirm until I’m upright, and then picks up the juice from my tray and hands it to me. I drink it down, parched after my nap. Plus, it’s good. Something dark red and berry-flavored. A nice tartness to it.

It doesn’t help my other problem, though. 

I finish and set it aside, noting that the mug from earlier is gone. How long was I asleep? I glance around, but Zero and I appear to be alone. Damn. I glance at Zero to find him watching me, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. I give him a sheepish look, plaster on a bashful smile. 

“I gotta piss, man,” I tell him, a note of apology in my voice. “Where’s Lee?”

“He went to talk to Zeke,” Zero says, pushing himself to his feet. He lowers the railing at the side of my bed and holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”

I stare at his hand for a couple seconds. I know what he’s asking, obviously. But… why? Lee is my doctor, he pretty much has to take care of me. Kip is a domestic, he’s also somewhat responsible for my care. Zero… As a pleasure or a combat asset, there’s no real need for him to help me. And I’m pretty much pathetic at the moment. I doubt I can make it across the room without assistance, and I have no chance of defending myself if he decides to pull something. Not that I had much chance before getting injured. I’d be really fucking easy to break now, though.

But… He has helped me before, with nothing to gain. And not just at the casino, but on Owner Peterson’s ship. Maybe that was a bit more mutual. The Arcrest Manor, then. He’d saved me then. And Lee trusts him enough to leave the two of us alone, so that certainly says a lot, right?

I lick my lips, eyeing the hand uncertainly. 

“You sure about this?” I ask, and he honest-to-god rolls his eyes at me. 

“I think I can handle it.”

“Ah,” I respond, still hesitating. 

He cocks his head to the side and says, “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“Fat chance,” is out of my mouth before I realize that it might not be the smartest thing to say. 

He smirks, though, so I guess it’s alright. At least it doesn’t get me decked. 

“Come on, then.”

I put my hand in his and swing my legs off the bed. My head swims dizzily as I turn, too much movement all at once. Zero doesn’t pull at me, doesn’t try to get me immediately on my feet. He lets me settle, then pulls his hand away and reaches for my shoulder. He fiddles with something, then drops several disconnected cables onto my shoulder. The other side of the cables are attached to various points on my chest. Previously, it’d been connected to monitoring equipment somewhere beside the bed or maybe in the ship itself. There’s a little screen on the wall behind my bed that shows a readout of my stats - heart rate and blood pressure and some other stuff that I have no idea how to decipher.

I’d been tethered to the ship, and I’d completely forgotten about it.

Zero moves to the IV next, expertly disconnecting the lines from the little ports. It leaves me with two tubes dangling from my hand, about four inches in length. The rest is pretty well taped down to keep me from messing with it. Not that I would - damn thing aches all the time. I hardly want to move it. It’s my left hand, and luckily it’s just as easy for me to use my right as my left. So I can leave it alone without much of an issue. 

Zero takes my undamaged right hand in his again, his other hand gripping my elbow. The sheet slides away as he pulls me up, revealing somebody’s black shorts that I’m currently wearing. Or maybe they’re just extra. Sometimes ships keep a stockpile of clothing for new assets. 

My legs shake when I stand, and the room tilts dizzily. I’ve been through this a couple times, though, so I’m prepared for it. Not like the first time, when I’d fallen into Lee and practically had to be carried. I’m getting better, I guess. Can manage to walk eight feet at a time - what an achievement. 

Zero doesn’t rush me. He lets me take small, faltering steps and follows beside, giving me something to lean against. Offering stability as everything else shifts wildly under foot. It takes a while to get to the bathroom door. It’s a thankfully small room, and I can hang onto the sink to maneuver myself to the toilet. I don’t need Zero to hold me up while I take a leak. 

Wouldn’t that be mortifying?

It’s bad enough that Zero stands in the doorway, giving me only the semblance of privacy. Probably worried that I’ll pass out or something. His back is to me, so at least he isn’t watching. Not that it’s the worst thing I’ve done - probably rates pretty low on the Weird-Shit-I’ve-Dealt-With-Meter.

I put Zero from my mind, focusing on the goal: empty bladder. It takes a minute to get the flow started, and it burns when I finally manage. I have enough experience with sounding to know that I probably had a catheter for a while. Damn. How embarrassing.

I’m just finishing up and tucking myself back into my borrowed (newly mine?) shorts when I hear the doors to the medbay open, then a brief moment before footsteps hurry over. 

Kip’s voice saying, “Zero, where did… Oh. I thought you were going to wait for me.”

I see Zero’s silhouette shrug from the doorway. 

“Well…” Kip says, probably understanding that the shrug was his full response. “I guess it worked out alright. He didn’t pull anything?”

“I’m not that damn delicate!” I grouse, moving to the bathroom door. Zero shifts over, letting me step into the doorway. “Between you and Lee, I don’t know who’s worse for hovering!”

Of course, it’s a cosmic sort of joke when - at that exact moment - my legs decide to give out, sending me toppling toward the floor. I hit against an iron bar - or it feels like one, at least. It does not move with my weight at all, although it is at least wrapped in a soft covering of muscle and skin. 

I guess the rumors about the zeros’ strength are true after all. 

Zero helps me back to my feet, taking most of my weight. Kip moves to my other side to assist, putting my arm over his shoulder. He’s petite, but there’s some muscle there. Nobody said life as a domestic was easy. 

“Maybe Lee and I just have a better idea of how far along your recovery is,” Kip says, but it’s teasing, not reproving. 

“Betrayed by my own body,” I complain as they move me back to the bed. 

They settle me down, Zero shifting my legs onto the bed. I’m not sure I could have managed on my own, given the state of my abdominal muscles at this point. Kip flits around the head of the bed, putting things in order - the blankets and pillows, my hair, whatever. He reconnects the monitors, but doesn’t attach the IV again. I think it’s probably just putting fluids into me at this point - there’s been a steadily increasing flow of little pills along with the steadily decreasing effects of narcotics. 

Kip steps back, satisfied. It puts him side-by-side with Zero. Both of them are looking at me with those metallic eyes - pale silver and gunmetal gray. Both clones, a first gen and a late gen. Even in their similarities, they’re polar opposites. Although they’re both clones, Zero looks more like Lee than Kip. Dark hair and almost black eyes. Honeyed skin, a bit more bronze than Lee’s, but so much darker than Kip’s pale milk. They’re both shorter than I am, but Zero has a little height on Kip. Kip is slim, where Zero is packed with dense, sinewy muscle. Even the clothes differ, with Kip choosing professional, slightly effeminate clothing, and Zero focusing mostly on workout gear. Stuff that he can move in. He acts like he doesn’t care what he’s wearing. Or is that part of his schtick? Combat-turned-pleasure, what rules govern that fucking role? Although as the Master’s favorite pet, he probably gets a lot of leeway. 

In another second, Kip moves off to the other side of the room. Zero settles in the seat beside me. He picks up a screen from the table by my bed and starts flicking through. Looks like readouts - probably the ship’s security system. Navigation. Something. 

Something boring. 

I’m just wondering if I can convince this guy to catch a vid with me - or play a game? - when the door opens. Lee steps in, and a tall form follows behind him. 

Oh. Oh  _ fuck. _

And there he is. Mr Tall, Blonde, and Intimidating himself. No warning. No makeup. Not even a  _ shower.  _

“Shit,” I curse, pushing myself up. It’s too fast, though, and it pulls at my stitches, making me wince. 

“You don’t have to sit up,” the Master says quickly, taking a step forward. But I’m already up. So… do I lay back down? 

Zero takes the decision from me by hitting the button to incline the bed, letting me relax back against it. 

The bed settles, and there’s an awkward moment when we all just stare at each other. I probably look like death warmed over, not to mention the shell shocked expression on my face. Zero is his usual passive self, although he’s sitting a little straighter as he watches. Kip is behind me, so I can’t see his expression, but I don’t hear him typing anymore, either. Lee has his indifferent mask on, thanks for the help, buddy. And my new master has a neutral expression on his face, his eyes watching me closely. He looks a bit uncomfortable, maybe a bit annoyed. Lee probably strong-armed him into coming down here - damn him!

I’m still trying to come up with a witty opening line, when Master Zeke enters the conversational fray. 

“How have you been?”

Shit. Obviously he knows how I’ve been - if he hadn’t seen my injuries himself, then surely some of this medical equipment should have given him a clue. So what’s he looking for? Recovery time? Overall adjustment rate?

“Oh. Um… Good. Never better.” He doesn’t look like he believes that. His eyes flick over my shoulder and I have the urge to look behind me, but I can’t make myself turn away from him. “Everyone’s been super nice.” 

Everyone being Lee, Kip, and Zero. I’ve seen glances of the other two - both  _ young!  _ How did an owner like Zeke end up with such novices? - but I haven’t had time to give them much thought.

Zeke nods. There’s an opening, but nobody jumps into the conversational fray to rescue me, so I wade back in. 

“As good as a guy can get with several holes in his gut,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. I follow quickly with, “You know, food could be better, though,” in an attempt to get some kind of reaction.

Zeke looks confused, glances to Kip and then Lee. 

“He’s still on a liquid diet,” Lee says. “We’re supplementing with the IV.”

Right. Damn. New owner, has no idea how they treat wounds like this. 

Zeke nods, and his attention shifts back to me. 

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Lee says that you’re progressing well, but I don’t want you rushing it.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, I won’t. Rush it.” Stop tripping all over yourself, damn it! “Lee keeps me on a pretty short leash.” No, wrong! “I mean, not a literal leash. Like a… a medical one.” So much not better. 

The Master is staring at me. He’s frowning, but not in a way that makes me flinch back. Just confused, not pissed.

Of course he’s confused. He’s wondering if somebody fucked you hard enough to give you brain damage.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he says, and it’s a closing if I’ve ever heard one. 

Fuck. Say something cute. Say something funny. Say  _ anything _ !

“Th-thanks.”

Not  _ that _ , you fucking moron!

The Master nods, flicks his eyes over my shoulder one last time, and then steps back. I open my mouth again - if I have to  _ scream _ to keep him here, I will - but he’s already turning away. 

“Lee,” he says. “Could I have a word?”

Lee nods, and the two of them walk out, the doors sliding shut behind them with the click of a casket lid, right before you jettison it into the sun. 

“Fuck!” I hear myself say, because  _ now _ my voice is fine. I kick at the goddamn footboard, but it only manages to send a stab of pain up my side. “Fuck!” I curse again, and I’m not even sure if it’s from pain, fear, or desperation. I put my hands over my face, and the disconnected IV line smacks me in the forehead. It makes me cough on a laugh, and I struggle to keep it from turning into something else.

“What are you so upset about?” Zero asks, his voice as monotone as ever. Like he didn’t witness that fucking wreck. 

“It’s over,” I tell him, and I could kick myself for the way my voice cracks. Have some fucking dignity, at least. “I screwed it up.”

“Screwed what up?” Zero asks, and he’s frowning in genuine confusion. Like… where was he this whole time? Did he not  _ see _ that?

“They don’t get it,” Kip says, his quiet voice carrying from across the room. I glance over, and he’s sitting at the counter, doing something on Lee’s tablet. “Lee and Zero were both trained differently - scholarly and combat. It’s not the same as pleasure.”

“You get it?” I have to ask him, because I’m starting to think maybe I’m just fucking nuts. I put my hands down and turn to look at him. He glances up at me, one pale eye fixing sadly on my face, the other covered by a scarf again, and nods.

“I’ve been around enough pleasure assets to know what they go through. But you’re wrong about it being over. This wasn’t a test. He really was just checking on you. You’ve still got plenty of chances left.”

“Yeah, sure,” I scoff. Still looking at Kip, I feel Zero take one of my hands in his. The reassurance is a little late. 

“It’s true,” Kip says more firmly. “Master Zeke is… Well, he’s still a master. But he’s not like the others. You’re okay. Okay?”

I squeeze Zero’s hand as a sudden wave of relief hits me so hard that it brings tears to my eyes. 

“Don’t play with me, man,” I say, not even trying to hide the crack in my voice this time.

Zero squeezes my hand, pulling my gaze back to him. Metallic, almost black eyes meet mine. Fierce and solid. 

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice strong and without inflection. “I promise. You’re safe.”

That’s never a thing you can say about a pleasure asset. 

But at least for the moment, it feels true. 


	3. Shower - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for all your lovely comments and support! 
> 
> I saw a question about when I post new chapters - I'm a weekly poster, and it should come out at roughly the same time every week. For me, that's Sunday morning between 7 to 9AM, USA Eastern Standard time.
> 
> I got a few recommendations for edits, which I always appreciate. However, this fic is just MASSIVE at this point, and I haven't had time to go back and correct the many errors. There is a cleaner copy of the previous sections available through the Discord server, which gives you access directly to my GDocs copies. You are able to highlight the issue directly in the text and comment, which makes it much easier for me to find the error and update. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/S3cBCwGv
> 
> Once again, I appreciate all of you! Thank you so much for coming this far with me!

“Be careful!” Lee chides, and it comes out as an angry growl.

Dodger’s voice, also angry, hisses back. 

“Would you stop smothering me for ten whole seconds?” he snaps. “I am not fucking fragile!”

“But you  _ are _ injured! You-” Lee cuts off as he sees me in the doorway. “Zero, would you talk some sense into him? He’s so damn stubborn!”

Dodger shoots him a glare. “That’s rich, coming from you!”

The two of them are in the medbay’s small bathroom. Dodger, dressed only in the towel hanging around his hips, is hanging onto the sink with a white-knuckled grip, the other arm braced across his tender abdomen as he hunches over in pain. Lee, still dressed in his usual black scrubs, has his hand outstretched, ready to catch Dodger if he falls. Tense shoulders and angry glares on both sides tell me that the negotiation of physical boundaries has stalled. Lee’s ideal probably has him all but carrying Dodger into the shower. Dodger, on the opposite side, seems determined to refuse help and get clean under his own power. He’s been pushing to get a level of independence back lately, and the stressful interaction with Master Zeke yesterday probably didn’t help. Nor did the fact that Dodger was too exhausted afterwards to attempt this, and the shower had to be pushed back. These two had exchanged heated words about that decision as well. 

The opposing forces glare at each other. They’ll come to blows before they manage an agreement. 

I sigh and pull my shirt over my head, toeing out of my sneakers. I’m still in spandex running shorts and I leave them on, unbothered by the thought of getting them wet. 

“Go,” I tell Lee firmly. “You can hover once I get him back into bed.”

“Finally!” Dodger crows triumphantly. “Somebody reasonable who-”

“And you,” I interrupt, turning a glare on Dodger, “are going to accept my help getting showered.”

“...Or what?”

“Or I’ll dump a bucket of water over your head and then leave you to Lee’s mercy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Dodger stares at me for a long moment, but something in my expression must tell him that I’m not bluffing. He sighs, the angry tension bleeding out from him, and holds a hand out to me. I slide his arm over my shoulders, putting my arm around his waist, and guide him into the small shower.

“Don’t let him fall,” Lee calls as I slide the door closed. A moment later, I hear the sound of his footsteps retreating. 

The medbay shower has a sturdy rail along the inside wall, and I make sure Dodger has a good hold on it before I turn on the water. 

“Fucking finally,” Dodger says, tilting his face toward the water with an almost blissful expression. He spends several seconds just letting the water pour over him. It seems to calm him, and whatever anxious energy had prompted the argument with Lee seems to wash away. 

I reach out and tug the sodden towel from his hips, tossing it over the shower wall. It lands on the floor outside with a wet thump.

Dodger’s torso is covered in a motley of bruises. Dark purple ones across his lower belly, where the cart’s edge dug in. Greenish fading ones on his upper arms and thighs, from owners roughly handling him. His skin is pale and pallid, although he’s been gaining back color in the last couple days. There’s a sutured gash on the right side of his pelvis - evidence of surgery that Lee performed to save his life. I don’t know much about the procedure, other than the fact the damage wasn’t as deep inside of him as it could have been, or Dodger would have a much longer recovery period ahead.

I lather a rag with soap and hand it to Dodger, who has to be tapped on the shoulder before he’ll open his eyes - both ringed in dark circles and slightly sunken - and turn toward me. He takes the rag and rubs it over his shoulders in a way that makes it seem like an indulgence rather than a necessity. 

“You gonna offer to wash my back for me?” Dodger asks, smirking. 

“Yes.” Then, “Unless that’s some kind of innuendo.”

Dodger laughs in a sharp bark, then shakes his head. 

“I’m not up for that.” He throws me a leer. “Not yet, anyways.”

“Just get clean.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m doin’ it.”

He is - his hands run the rag along his arms and over his shoulders efficiently, making swift work of the task. I note that he’s bracing one hip against the shower wall for balance and support. His hands have a slight tremble as he moves them. It seems that the small exertion of getting in here exhausted him, along with the energy expended during his argument with Lee. 

Dodger’s hands move along his shoulders and down his chest. They dip to his stomach, being careful not to brush against the closed wound. His expression sours as he looks at himself. 

“That’s fucking horrific,” he says distastefully.

It’s true that the majority of his pelvis and lower torso is discolored. A motley spattering of bruises in different colors and sizes cover his stomach; from deep, almost black areas to a few fading green and yellow spots. The bruising is worst on his hips and near the suture. There’s some damage on his back and arms, too, but the highest concentration is on his front. The stomach is a vulnerable, easily damaged target, and Dodger endured a sustained assault for nearly an hour. Not to mention the damage that had already been there, given Dodger’s treatment prior to the event.

“It’ll heal,” I respond. 

He scoffs, “Yeah, eventually,” and prods at one of the greenish bruises near his navel. 

It is healing. Almost the whole area had been bruised and swollen when Dodger had first come in. Lee had been afraid of infection. Sepsis. He’d pumped Dodger full of antibiotics and painkillers. Slowly, the inflammation had eased. Deep tissue damage had started to repair itself. The worry in Lee’s face faded as Dodger stepped back from the edge of death. And I’d been able to breathe again, been able to let my guard down and step away from his bedside. 

Dodger wasn’t conscious much during this period. I doubt he even remembers it. 

“Damn,” Dodger says. “That’s… Ugh. Disgusting.” He sighs, glancing up at me with a half-smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t fuck me right now either.”

I shrug. 

“It’s not that bad.”

“It kinda is, though.”

I gesture to my torso, still dotted with scars even though the worst of the damage is hidden under my shorts. He’s seen that, too.

“I’ve had worse.”

Dodger frowns. “Yeah, but not since you’ve been a pleasure asset.”

That thought gives me pause. Technically true, although I did have the damage to my hip repaired, which caused some bruising and discoloration. But, overall, I haven’t been injured since I became Zeke’s pleasure asset. 

“I was in pretty bad shape when Zeke first got me. Split lip, back eye. Bruised all over. Zeke still changed me to pleasure.”

Rather than looking reassured, Dodger bites his lip. The rag hangs limp and forgotten in his fingers, and his eyes trail down my body. 

“Is that his thing, then?” Dodger asks, his voice soft. “Bruises? Or scars?”

“What thing?”

“Like… like his kink?”

“No,” I respond firmly. “It’s not. He won’t…” Won’t beat you and scar you for his own amusement. I can’t even make myself say it, can’t give physical form to words that are so opposite to Zeke’s treatment of his assets. “Whatever you’re thinking, he’s not going to do it.”

Dodger throws his hands up, the forgotten rag flailing like a flag and tossing droplets of water at me.

“Then what is?” he snaps. “Why won’t anyone tell me what his deal is?”

“He doesn’t have a deal.”

“So, what? He’s just a nice guy?”

“Yes.”

Dodger glares at me. There’s an impatience in his expression, like he’d expected better from me. Like I’m being intentionally stupid. 

“Nice guys,” he growls, pointing a finger at me, the rest of his hand still holding the sopping rag, “can get this,” he uses his other hand to gesture at himself, “for free. Nice guys don’t have to join an illegal  _ slave ring _ to get this. You get me? Ergo, your master is not a  _ nice _ guy.”

With a huff, he turns back toward the spray, putting his back to me. 

That’s a logical conclusion. This group wasn’t formed for benign purposes. Their entire objective is to facilitate behavior that general society finds reprehensible. Individual owners vary on how destructive their intentions are, how perverse their interests, and how well they can balance their dark desires against the value of happy, healthy slaves. As a rule, though, these are not people to be trusted or admired. 

And yet, in every aspect of this, Zeke has proven himself different. He’s shown a noted interest in rehabilitating his assets. In protecting them from further damage. Even when his slaves are difficult or the treatment comes at great personal risk and cost, Zeke has made the effort to see us well. He regularly adjusts plans to accommodate our skills and interests. Against the hard facts of his actions, Zeke proves himself the exception in every facet. 

Do the facts trump the logic in this instance? Or am I simply reaching the conclusion that I want, rather than impartially assessing the situation? Is my judgement compromised?

“You’ve never had a kind master?” I ask him, and I’m surprised by how soft my voice sounds. Dodger hears it, though. He freezes, his shoulders tensing. In another moment, he rounds on me, his expression furious. 

“Was I ever stupid enough to believe in that?” he snarls. “Yeah. Yeah I fucking was. But you know what? It just proved my point. There isn’t any such thing as a nice owner, just slaves dumb enough to believe it.”

The depth of his anger surprises me. This isn’t a hypothetical. 

“Who?” I ask, and his expression darkens. 

“None of your fucking bu-”

His weight shifts and his knees buckle, dropping him toward the floor.

I get my arms under him before he can make impact, years of combat training giving me split-second reaction time. I have to brace him carefully, grabbing him under the arms rather than around the waist. He makes a soft noise of surprise as I catch him, then lower him gently to the floor. 

“Are you alright?” I ask. My gaze follows the flow of water on the bottom of the shower, checking for pink hints of blood. “Did you pull your stitches?”

“I think I’m okay,” he responds, more subdued now. He pulls back from me, shifting to get his legs under him. Sitting on his tailbone is impossible right now, given his injuries, but he can kneel without pain. I let him brace against me as he settles, then slowly pull away. I glance him over, but there doesn’t appear to be any new damage to his torso.

“That was fucking stupid,” he says. “I don’t know why I keep letting myself get so worked up.”

Stress. Pain. Uncertainty. Fear. Any of these would make him irritable and volatile. In combination, it’s little wonder that he’s reacting so strongly.

He sighs and glances up longingly at the still-running shower. 

“I didn’t even get to wash my hair.”

Hair cleanliness is a non-necessity. Washing the dermis, where bacteria can easily build up during an extended period of immobility, is the vital aspect. The task is 70% complete. Best plan of action would be to get Dodger on his feet again and assist in washing his lower body. Request possible assist from Lee during extraction from shower and return to primary occupancy location. 

“Can you sit like this for a prolonged period of time?” I ask. 

“Uhh… Yeah. Yeah, this feels okay.”

“If you can move forward and stay on your knees, I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning at me. “It’s kind of a pain.”

“I think I can handle it.”

I stand and give him space to crawl forward, then settle on his knees again. It puts him at the rear of the small space, and I have to step over him to move to the front of the shower, under the spray. I’m soaked immediately, sodden shorts uncomfortable against my skin. I ignore it, looking around for shampoo. Dodger finds it first and hands it to me, reaching over his shoulder while bracing with the other hand. I take the bottle from him, finding that it’s one of Zeke’s luxury brands. Kip must have brought it down for this purpose, knowing that long hair requires different treatment from short.

“You know how to do this, right?” Dodger asks. I let several globs of the sweet smelling, translucent gel fall on the top of Dodger’s head. Dodger hesitates, then says, “I guess that’s a no.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Not… I mean, not really a problem. There’s just a lotta hair, man. You can’t just do the top.”

I kneel behind him, taking some of the gel from the crown of his head and wiping it further down the length of his hair. 

“Better?”

“It’s definitely less bad.”

He raises his hands to work the gel into his hair, but I can see the strain it puts on his thighs, without having his arms to brace. He has to hold himself up slightly to keep his weight off his ass. It’s easier for him to lean on his hip, but it’s hard to shift him in this small space.

“I’ll do it,” I tell him. “Keep your hands braced.”

Another moment of hesitation, then he puts his hands back down. He tenses as I twine my fingers in his hair. He’d been preparing for rough treatment, I think, but I am capable of delicate work as well. I let the silky strands flow through my fingers, using the gel to wash away the grimey feel. Dodger slowly relaxes, even giving an appreciative moan as my fingers move to the base of his skull and massage gently. 

“Doesn’t seem like this is the first time you’ve done this,” Dodger comments. 

“I’ve washed Zeke’s hair occasionally.”

“He likes that?” Dodger asks, and I can tell that he’s fishing. I shrug, but he can’t see it. 

“I guess. It’s not something he asks of me. It just happens occasionally.” I pause to think about it, then follow with, “He does seem to like bathing a lot.”

“Like, just baths?”

“Showers are fine. He just seems to like company.”

“Ah. Is it only the shower? Or does he just like wet sex?”

“It’s not a sex thing. It’s usually just showering.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. Frustrated, maybe. “I guess I can work with that. So he just likes having you wash his hair?”

“Sometimes. Other times, he washes me.”

Dodger scoffs. “Of course he does.” Another humorless laugh. “This fucking guy. I can’t get a peg on him, and he won’t come around enough to give me any input.”

I don’t want to point out that the last time Zeke was around, Dodger came close to hyperventilating. The heart rate monitor had spiked the moment Zeke entered the room, and didn’t settle again until well after he left. I doubt Zeke will try again any time soon. 

Quiet settles between us, with only the sound of the still-running shower to fill it. I can feel the spray against my lower back and my soaked shorts. I contemplate taking them off, but reject the idea. I’m less concerned that Dodger would be upset by my nudity than I am worried that he might attempt to initiate a one-sided sexual transaction. Pleasure assets offer their skills and services to the other designations often in exchange for protection or special treatment. I’ve never been involved in that situation on either side, and I’d rather not have to deal with it right now. 

The end of Dodger’s hair has managed to get several little knots and tangles. I have to use extra shampoo and work delicately to get them unknotted. 

“Your hair is more difficult to wash than Zeke’s,” I point out.

“Yeah,” Dodger responds. “Once it gets past mid-back, it’s a real bitch to manage. I usually keep it wrapped up when I’m not on display. It takes too much damage if it’s loose all the time. The ends start splitting, which makes it harder to brush. It used to tangle like a son of a bitch when I was a kid.”

“You’ve always had your hair long?”

“Pretty much. My mom’s hair was always her big draw, so she had me grow mine out, too.”

“Draw?”

“Yeah. Like… her hook?”

“Hook for what?”

“...You know that the only two jobs on Sat 12 were prostitute or drug runner, right?”

That’s a slight exaggeration. Typically, a satellite needs an entire infrastructure to support its population. However, in the case of Satellite 12, declining standards of living forced most of the population to migrate to Satellites 18 and 20. Those remaining had been left with little way to support themselves. Satellite 12 had become a hub of illegal activities. Smuggling and narcotics trade had been the primary sources of funding. Prostitution had grown to fill the economic demand created by the smugglers and drug lords. 

When Satellite 12 had gone cold, nearby satellites had stepped in to absorb the business. Satellite 16 had taken over the narcotics trade, where I would later be sold by the Leash.

“So your mom was…”

“A high class hooker,” he says, tossing a grin over his shoulder at me. “Best on Sat 12.”

“Ah.”

“Worked at a little place off the corner of Main and 5th called Yolanda’s. The madame was trans. Usually you can’t tell, but the madame was pretty open about it. Plus, she was big as a fuckin’ ship. Nobody messed with her. She didn’t fuck with the whores, either. Didn’t sample the merchandise, you know?”

I don’t know anything about any of this. Thankfully, Dodger doesn’t seem to need much input. 

“We had a little apartment upstairs, just me and mom. Usually, the whores had to share an apartment, but Yolanda didn’t like that with a kid. So me and mom got our own place, plus a couple of the other girls with kids. Yolanda didn’t mind kids, but she didn’t like the girls having steadys. So it was always just me and mom.”

“Steadys?”

“Uh, like a boyfriend? Regular customers were fine, but the madame didn’t like the girls seeing johns off hours.”

“Put your head back.”

I move to the side, and Dodger shifts back so that his hair is under the spray. I run my fingers through the strands, helping pull the suds out of the long mass. I nudge his shoulder once all the soap is out, and he sits back up. 

“Gonna need to condition the ends,” he says, handing me a second bottle. His eyes are drooping, and he’s leaning more heavily on his arms. I spread the thick, milky cream over the ends of his wet hair. 

“Lean back,” I tell him, but he shakes his head. 

“Gotta let it sit for a couple minutes.”

“Hm.”

Dodger is obviously nearing the tail end of his endurance. I slide next to him and let him lean against me, taking some of his weight. It takes him a moment to relax. His cheek brushes against my shoulder, then comes to rest against my chest. I can just see his face in my peripheral, the way it’s starting to look pinched and exhausted. He doesn’t complain, though. Just settles against me with a sigh.

“A guy could get used to this,” he says teasingly. 

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“And let you leave me to drown? Pass.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d at least send Lee in. I’m sure he could resuscitate you before it’s too late.”

He gapes at me for a moment, then laughs. 

“Who knew you had a sense of humor? It’s a little dark. I like it.”

“Is your hair done… absorbing yet?”

He laughs and says, “Yeah, I think we’re good,” before leaning back into the spray again. It takes less effort to get the conditioner out, since it’s only covering the bottom half of his hair. 

When the rinse is done, I help him stand again. I am concerned for a moment that he won’t manage, but his shaking legs hold as he braces against the safety bar. I make quick work of washing his lower body, taking particular care around his injuries and avoiding the gash on his stomach altogether.

Getting out of the shower is a bit of an endeavor. Dodger isn’t holding much of his weight at this point, and maneuvering us both in the small space is a challenge. I contemplate calling Lee for assistance, but discard the idea. It would be tantamount to admitting that Lee was right about Dodger’s current level of ability, and that would only damage Dodger’s failing confidence in himself. As confused and uncertain as Dodger is right now, I’m less concerned about him pushing himself too hard than I am about him getting discouraged. 

Once free of the shower confines, I lift Dodger under the knees and shoulders. He’s taller than I am, so it’s a bit of an awkward hold, but he’s slim enough that I can manage. It doesn’t leave me hands for an extra towel. Dodger’s arms are hanging limply at his sides, so it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to manage. 

Hm. 

Damp sheets cause minimal discomfort, and are not a health risk. 

I walk out of the small bathroom with Dodger still in my arms, his hair hanging over my arm in a wet curtain and dripping onto the floor. He’s still completely naked as we make our way back into the main area of the medbay, while I’m clothed only in sodden shorts. 

Ruby stares at us, his mouth agape. A lunch tray is in his hands, forgotten. Lee is sitting along the far wall, looking at something on a screen. He must sense a difference in the air, because he glances up and then scowls. 

“Ancestors, Zero, you could have called me! I was right here.”

I shrug, turning to put Dodger back in his bed. I see Dodger shift to keep Ruby in his line of sight, and wonder what he finds so interesting about the younger asset. Or perhaps he’s simply making an entertaining expression. 

I lay Dodger down carefully, and he shifts to get more comfortable. Lee comes over, helping to get him settled. 

“That hair is going to soak right through the pillow,” Lee complains angrily.

“It’ll dry,” Dodger responds, although I’m not sure if he’s talking about his hair or the pillow. 

“Let me get some towels,” Lee says gruffly, and heads for the bathroom. 

I hear Ruby finally moving, and glance over to see him lay the tray of food on the counter. Sometimes Ruby helps out in the kitchen when he’s not training with me. This is likely one of Kip’s errands for him. 

Ruby has a blush on his cheeks, and he purposely doesn’t look toward us as he turns and exits the room. I see Dodger following the redhead with his eyes until the younger asset disappears out the door. 

“He certainly got an eyeful, didn’t he?” Dodger comments. It sounds teasing, but there’s too much focus in Dodger’s gaze as it stares at the closed door. 

“I guess.”

“So he’s… a domestic then?”

“No. He just runs errands for the kitchen sometimes.”

Dodger’s gaze shifts over to me. His eyes are large, and a kaleidoscope of blues and reds, merging into purple at a distance. Kneeling next to the bed as I am, we’re close enough that I can see the individual colors there. 

“What is he, then?”

“A pest.”

Dodger scoffs. “The new ones always are. But-”

He’s interrupted when Lee drops a towel over his face. 

“Have some decency!” Lee growls, laying another towel over Dodger’s pelvis. “Honestly.”

Dodger comes out from under the towel with a grin on his face. He calls, “Don’t be such a prude!” at Lee’s retreating back. Then he shifts the towel around so that it’s under his head. I pull away the towel that’s covering his hips and tuck it under the first one, spreading it out beside his head. I lift his hair and spread it out over the terrycloth, letting the fabric catch most of the wetness. Then I pull up the sheet from the bottom of the bed and cover his damp form. 

Kneeling again, I find a tired smile playing on his lips. 

“You’re kinda nice,” he says softly. “When you get underneath that prickly exterior. You know?”

I don’t. But then, I’m always on this side of the prickly exterior.

“You stayin’ for a while?”

“No. I just came down to check on you.”

“S’ okay, I don’t think I’m staying up.”

After the shower, I’m not surprised.

“I’ll be back this evening.”

“Still doing the night shift?”

“Yes.”

“You’re good at it. Maybe we can get me out of here soon.”

“Maybe.”

I can tell he’s drifting off already, his eyes almost shut. Still, he finds the strength to say, “I’m gonna miss having you all to myself,” before he nods off. 

I’m not sure what he thinks is going to change, once we move him out of the medbay and into one of the other nearby rooms. But I’m not curious enough to wake him.

Dodger is asleep already. I stand and move into the small bathroom, where I retrieve my shoes and shirt from earlier. Then, with an acknowledging wave to Lee, I exit the medbay and head up to get Ruby for training. We’ll be starting late, since I hadn’t planned on staying for so long in the medbay. 

But I think it was worth it. 


	4. A Little Longer - Zero POV

Ruby is panting, kneeling on the matted floor of the training space. Covered in sweat, his face red from exertion. He glares at me.

I rub my hand over my eyes in frustration.

“If you kept your guard up,” I tell him, fighting to keep my voice even, “you wouldn’t have to expend so much energy dodging.”

“Like I’ve got any hope of blocking you,” he snarls, hands clenched into fists. 

“It’s sparring. I’m not going to hit you with my full strength.” 

His eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame him, but it’s slowing our progress. 

“If I wanted to catch you,” I snap, “you wouldn’t manage to dodge me either.”

Ruby flinches. His green eyes move to the floor, ashamed. He’s no match for me - we both know it. This wasn’t supposed to showcase his deficit, it was supposed to teach him actual combat skills. There’s only so much I can teach him from the sidelines, only so much his body can learn without actual experience. 

The door to the gym opens. Lee enters, wearing his typical black scrubs. I can see the worn spots at the knees and elbows of his clothes, and know that this is the set he keeps specifically for his martial arts training. 

“You’re dismissed,” I tell Ruby. He hesitates for a long moment, then shoves himself to his feet with an angry growl and storms off toward the showers.

“What happened?” Lee asks as he approaches, his gaze following Ruby’s retreating form. 

“Nothing,” I respond. “I thought I could spar with him for a warmup.”

“Ambitious of you,” Lee says, but he’s frowning as he looks toward me. I shrug. 

“He’s… stagnating. I can’t tell if I’m pushing too hard or not hard enough.” I eye Lee, calculating. “Or if I’m simply not the right trainer for him.”

“No,” Lee responds, climbing into the ring with me. “Absolutely not. I’ve already got my hands full with one hellion. I don’t need another.”

“...I’ll trade you.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. Lee has a sense of humor, but he usually has to be surprised into showing it. Making him laugh comes with the same satisfaction as a solid punch or flawless kick. 

“Training takes time,” he tells me with a grin. “Just because you’re frustrated doesn’t mean you’re doing a bad job. It probably means you’re doing a good job, honestly.”

That sounds like a logical fallacy or an outright lie. But Lee has more experience in training others than I do, so I don’t call him out on it.

“Perhap you simply need a better challenge,” Lee says, and I can see the shift in his stance as he readies himself. Placid facade melting into barely-reined ferocity. “Someone who doesn’t quake at your mere presence.”

“Think you can find someone like that around?” I goad. He smirks, falling into a defensive stance.

I strike out, and it takes Lee by surprise. He blocks, but there’s a moment of hesitation. That’s one of the things about Lee’s formal, rigid martial arts training. It assumes that the opponent will follow the same rules and structure. Lee is a very good fighter. It’s difficult to get the advantage over him. His reactions are very fast, and seemingly undulled by his age, although I don’t have a previous reference point. Still, by ignoring convention and formalities, I’m able to take an early advantage, putting Lee on the defensive. I have trained in several different martial arts styles, as well as weaponized combat. I’ve fought skilled and unskilled opponents in various situations as I sought to protect my previous owner’s shipments from thieves and other cartels. Oftentimes I fought while injured or unarmed against unimpeded and merciless adversaries. It taught me to take any early advantage that I could seize and use it ruthlessly. Where Lee might have more formal knowledge and years of training, I have more practical skill and tactical flexibility. 

It is just sparring, though. I pull my punches when they land. Lee doesn’t aim for pressure points, doesn’t try to disable me with his superior knowledge of anatomy. I might be able to block him from doing that now that I know he can, but he doesn’t make the attempt. There are openings I notice where I could kick out and snap his knee, his wrist. I don’t take them. 

We are both serious, skilled fighters. Ground must be taken in slivers, and we struggle not to give it up. Still, it feels like play. The stakes are low. There is an unspoken agreement not to harm each other. 

When I was a child, training involved matching myself against my clones, an even battle that could last for hours. We did not pull punches. If we were able to injure our opponent, we did so. If our opponent died, it simply meant that we would not have to fight him again. Learning skills was done by following a computer program or completing an obstacle course. Fighting against a real opponent was meant to show our skill as mercenaries. 

Our trainers - the techs employed in our branch of the satellite, a group of clones owned and supervised by the scientists leading the project - had no compassion for us, despite the fact that we were children. They would dress our wounds and feed us, then send us to destroy each other. Maybe they were on the same emotional suppressants that we were. As clones, they would have had few rights and even fewer protections, and likely those weren’t respected either. In some ways, they were just as vulnerable as we were, although I doubt that they were as harshly treated. It’s hard to tell, though. They all wore the same face. As we grew, their numbers dwindled. Maybe they were being reassigned, or they were slowly dying off. I did not have the necessary emotional capacity to care at that time. And my fellow zeros were dying off just as quickly.

This type of fighting - what I’m doing against Lee and occasionally against Ruby, almost more like play than battle - does not come naturally to me. I understand that concept of sparring. I had seen it used as a training tactic on my excursions to BloodSports with my previous owner, while delivering shipments of narcotics. Brutal in a way that was similar to my training, but harnessed enough that they would not lose fighters outside of spectator matches. 

On the few occasions later that I would spar with Master Zeke, I was familiar enough with the idea to keep from hurting him. My instinct to protect outweighed my impulse to injure, and I was able to view it as a teaching opportunity. I picked my attacks and my movements to highlight where Master Zeke’s defenses were weakest and where it would be easiest to disable him. I believe he noticed my efforts, although I don’t know that he took my lessons seriously. He has not made any significant efforts to improve his performance. 

Later, when it came time to spar with Lee, I was able to hone this skill. There is a difference in mindset required when facing someone like Lee, whose skill rivals my own. It is harder to suppress the instinct to harm him. At the same time, it’s far easier to keep from accidentally hurting him. He is able to defend himself from me, which minimizes my responsibility to do it for him. In that way, I am able to find a balance between attacking and holding myself back. 

With Ruby, I find myself facing the worst of both situations. Less skilled than Zeke, but more ferocious than Lee. Sparring with him tests the limits of my patience, and none of my skills. His attacks are violent and aggressive, and they activate my instinct to defend myself. At the same time, his lack of skill makes me constantly on edge to keep from harming him. Any distraction on my part and we could easily come to blows, which would be disastrous for him. 

It feels like I spend half of my time trying to rein myself in. When it comes to the Competition, that skill will be of no value to me. I doubt Master Zeke will pit me against any other competitors before the actual event. Pre-Competition battles rarely end in the death of a fighter. However, given the reputation of zeros, I doubt anyone would be daring enough to pit their Competition-level asset against me. Zeros are known for being ruthless killers, methodical and quick. As a tactical choice, it might be better for me to maim or kill my opponent and accept whatever consequences come. It would both dissuade other owners from challenging Master Zeke to more battles, while also proving my reputation as a killer. 

Am I still one? I haven’t killed since before Master Zeke got me. I promised myself that I wouldn’t kill again, that I wouldn’t go back to being a machine and a murderer. I don’t know if that’s true any longer, though. I would do anything to protect the life that I’ve found here. If Zeke asked me to kill for him, would I do it? 

I came close when I attacked Ruby, and then later Master Zeke as well. My temper got the best of me, and I lashed out at those close to me without consideration for their frailty. I’m not deluded enough to think that my main purpose was to kill them. I know how to snap a man’s neck, know how to cut off blood flow to the brain. Strangulation is low on my preferred ways to kill people, even bare-handed. I meant to hurt them. If I’d meant to kill them, I would have.

So much time spent reining myself in, pulling myself back. How does practice and peace weigh against desperation and bloodlust? If I challenged myself now against who I was five years ago, who would come out on top? 

I can’t help but think I’m losing my edge. 

Lee calls for a halt when we’re both sweating. We know how to minimize our efforts, conserving our energy by keeping our movements tight and sharp. Neither of us is as out of breath as Ruby was. Lee doesn’t have my level of stamina, although I’m unsure if that’s due to his age or because he has less time for physical training than I do. Still, it was a good workout for both of us. Although I have many reservations about my current skills, I understand that there’s no other feasible option. The life I was subjected to before led me to the edge of suicide by inaction. I have little doubt that if the situation repeated itself, I would quickly find myself there again. 

There are bottles of water waiting for us in a small refrigerated unit near the door to the showers. I see movement as I approach, then Ruby’s back as he turns the corner, retreating again. I should have told him to come watch us after he finished his shower, but it looks like he did anyway. 

I return to Lee and toss him a bottle of water. There’s a towel over his shoulders, and he drops the corner that he’d been using to dab at his face in favor of catching the bottle. He takes a long drink as I pull myself back into the ring, leaning against the ropes and sipping from my own bottle. 

“How’s Dodger?” I ask. Lee caps his water bottle and glances at me. 

“You mean how is he since you saw him this morning?”

Dodger isn’t much of a morning person. If I took a baseline of his health based on how he acts when Lee and I change shifts, I’d still think he was actively dying. 

“...Yes.”

Lee scoffs softly. He’s smiling, and it makes him look younger. Not that he ever looks particularly old. He’s fit and athletic. Combined with his heritage, it makes his actual age hard to pin down.

Lee shakes his head ruefully.

“Dodger is fine. If boredom were terminal, he’d already have succumbed. Thankfully, that seems to be the worst of his maladies right now. Or at least, it’s the one he’s most vocal about.”

“Maybe he’s ready to start moving around?”

“Soon,” Lee agrees. “Pleasure assets are used to hiding and ignoring pain in a way that even combat assets don’t have to. I want to give him another day or two of mostly bedrest before letting him out, and then supervise for a few more days. I can’t trust him to know his limitations; he’s been taught for too long that they don’t matter.”

“Hm.”

“Not that he’s being totally sedentary. I have Kip walk him around the cargo bay a couple times a day.”

“Just Kip?” He gives me a questioning glance. “Not you?”

“He’s more at ease with Kip,” Lee responds. His voice is a bit lower. More serious. There’s a note of pain in it, or maybe longing? It’s hard to read. “Dodger and I have a history, but it was a long time ago.”

Ah. 

“Besides,” he continues, “Kip seems to handle him better. It’s too easy for him to goad me into a disagreement. Like in the shower the other day. Dodger’s very good at pushing buttons, and his current mental state makes him more likely to try.”

I haven’t noticed Dodger’s manipulations. But then, my interactions with Dodger are usually when he’s exhausted or asleep. I’ll have to watch him interact with the others, see if I can notice it. Perhaps it’s subtle enough that I haven’t seen it used on me. Or perhaps I’m more difficult to manipulate than others. 

“Kip has a better temperament than I do,” Lee says, “and his humor helps toward managing Dodger without a fuss. To be honest, Kip’s been a bigger help than I thought he would be. I feel a bit guilty for leaning on him this much.”

“Kip’s used to taking care of people.”

Even before he started learning the medical skill from Lee, he was a domestic.

“That’s true. It’s just… He’s been an apt pupil. He’s extremely intelligent, focused, and attentive. He’s patient and even tempered, like he was designed for this position.”

That makes sense.

“I’ve often wondered…” Lee continues, his expression thoughtful. “There’s a lot of genetic manipulation with clones. With such a high level of intelligence and observation, it’s struck me that his original design could have been related to this field.”

I let the words hang between us, my face carefully neutral. 

Lee glances at me and blanches.

“Not that clones can only be used for their original purpose,” he backpedals quickly. “It was just something I’d contemplated, based on his skillset.”

I shrug.

“He’s here now.”

“Yes, I suppose he is.” Another brief hesitation on his part. “I should go relieve him, let him take a break from entertaining Dodger.”

“Zeke’s in a meeting with the pleasure dealer this afternoon, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Some kind of social call, talking about another visit. Why?”

“No reason.” My mind makes a brief calculation based on Kip’s typical schedule. “I’m going to shower,” I tell Lee, then turn and walk off.

“Oh,” I hear from behind me. “Alright, then.”

I take a quick shower, just washing the sweat off of my skin and putting on clean shorts. I don’t bother with a shirt or shoes. Ruby is long gone, probably off to meet up with Red. They have a break in mid-afternoon, before Kip gets Red to help with dinner and sets Ruby on chores. Lee doesn’t come into the showers after me, as expected. He doesn’t like to be naked in communal spaces like the gym, so he’s more likely to head back to the medbay and use the small shower there. Kip won’t be needed once Lee arrives - Dodger doesn’t need to be supervised every moment. He just needs someone around in case of emergencies, and to make sure he doesn’t get bored enough to try something stupid. 

There are crew bedrooms on the bottom floor, smaller than the captain’s quarters. Ruby and Red have a room there. Kip has a room that he keeps some extra clothes in, where he might nap or relax if Zeke is using the Master suite. Typically, though, Kip spends his time in Zeke’s suite, as I did before we got Dodger. 

I haven’t spent much time in Zeke’s room lately. It’s emotionally unpleasant, and Dodger is an easy excuse. That doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped appreciating the oversized bed or the room-sized shower and sub-floor bath. Nor do I feel unwelcome in the space. I understand that my avoidance is purely psychological and exclusively on my end. Zeke would welcome me back in a heartbeat. But he won’t force me to return, won’t coerce or manipulate me. 

It… helps. To know that he is giving me this space. That I might be leashed to him, but he holds the chain loosely, giving me slack when I need it. It makes me feel less like a prisoner, more like a subordinate.

Less like a slave, more like a person.

I take the long way up to the top floor, going up the stairs and keeping my steps slow. Even if Lee had gone straight back to the medbay after I’d left, he and Kip would have chatted for a couple minutes. Not too long, though, as Lee doesn’t like to feel unclean, and would have been more concerned about getting his shower. Kip would have then exited the medbay and used the freight elevator in the cargo bay to go to the third floor. Kip is also fastidious, and likes to take a long shower around midday when he gets the chance. Says that it wakes him up, helps him be more clear-headed for dealing with the teens in the evening. 

My calculations have me arriving just as Kip is getting undressed, assuming that he doesn’t forgo the shower in favor of reading or taking a nap. I arrive in the Master suite to find that actual events are just a few seconds faster than my projections, and Kip is already in the shower.

I slip out of my shorts and step into the shower, not bothering to hide my presence. Kip glances up, startled but not alarmed, then smiles at me. 

“I thought you’d be- Mm!”

He cuts off abruptly as I pin him against the uneven stone of the shower wall. My lips cover his, my tongue darting out to plunder his surprised, open mouth. His hands, which had been braced against me, quickly slide up my chest and take a hold of my shoulders. My thigh braces between his legs, and I can feel his cock stirring. 

The humidity from the running shower quickly slicks my skin. Kip is already soaked, although it seems like he was enjoying the hot water. I don’t feel any slickness from his soap, nor can I smell the lightly floral scent. I kneel in front of him, and I’m able to get a good grip on his thighs, hoisting them over my shoulders. Kip is still slim, although he’s put on a small amount of weight since Lee started managing his health. It’s very little effort for me to stand with him balanced on my shoulders, even granting that I have to pull him away from the uneven wall of the shower. Kip laughs, his legs wrapping around me, his hands linking behind my head. Once standing, I let him lean back against the wall again, using it for support and balance. I take his hardening cock into my mouth, using my tongue to tease him into full arousal.

“Still fighting with Zeke, are we?” Kip asks, running his hand through my hair as my mouth works his cock. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Kip has noticed an uptick in our sexual encounters since Zeke and I have been… estranged. He’s mentioned it, mostly as a concern. Kip has never had the type of relationship with Zeke that I did - Zeke was always a master to him, and Kip never tried for more than that. I think he worries that Zeke will eventually get fed up with my behavior and try to force me back into line. While I know I could survive such tactics, I’m not sure what it would do to my mental state. But I am also sure that Zeke won’t resort to such measures without serious provocation. 

I move my left hand to the small of Kip’s back, encouraging him to thrust into my mouth. At the same time, my right hand wraps around my cock, giving it teasing strokes. I’m painfully hard already, but in the mood to drag this out. 

Kip gasps and moans in my grip, using his leverage on my shoulders to thrust his hips. My body moves with him, rocking the both of us. He seems to have very little interest in dragging this out, and he uses his light grip on my head to help guide my movements. His thrusting intensifies, and I have to release my hold on my own cock to and use both hands to brace Kip. His cock slides easily in and out of my mouth. Kip’s cock isn’t particularly large, especially in comparison to Zeke’s, so I’m able to take his full length into my mouth without any impulse to choke or gag. Kip moans when I do it, his hips giving helpless little jerks against me. His thighs tense over my shoulders, and it’s the only warning I get before hot come hits the back of my throat. 

Kip moans, stilling in my hold for several tense seconds as the orgasm washes over him. It’s not until his body goes slack that I let his cock fall from my mouth, giving it a parting lick that makes Kip gasp and flinch. I take a step back, letting his legs fall from my shoulders. He slides down my body and I’m able to easily control his movement by gripping him at the waist. Kip is still slim, but not as frail or sickly. I still take great care when I touch him. but I no longer worry that he might shatter in my grip. I never would have dared something like this with him before. 

Kip’s thighs fall to my hips and I stop his descent. I rub my aching cock against his slick, softening one. He gasps and pulls back, too-sharp pleasure feeling like pain. His hand circles my cock, but it’s not what I’m after. 

I step back, letting his legs drop from my hips. I keep my hold until he finds his balance, then move away entirely. In the center of the shower, I drop to all fours. Mist from the shower spray tickles along my back, wetting my body. Kip locks eyes with me. A smile plays along his lips - his face is too innocent to really pull off a smirk, but it’s close. He grabs a bottle from the ledge and comes to kneel beside me. I spread my knees as he puts his hands on me, but he ignores it. Instead, he runs his fingers down the length of my back, stopping to rub little circles in the hollow of my lower back. 

My cock is hot and angry between my legs. Kip’s fingers tease me, tormenting. Trickles of water run over my skin, eventually flowing down to my cock and dripping off the tip. Some of it is likely my own fluids, slipping out despite the lack of stimulation. 

It feels like forever before Kip pulls his hands back and I hear the sharp pop of the bottle being opened. 

“You’re such a needy whore sometimes,” Kip says, but his tone seems almost indulgent. Gently teasing, perhaps. Still, the abrasive words send a shiver through me. I like the idea of being wanton. 

Kip’s hands are back; one settling on my hip, the other prodding gently at my entrance, fingers slicked with lubricant. I let out a low moan, pushing my hips back, but Kip ignores my demand. He coats my entrance, and then coats his fingers again.

“Touch yourself,” he says, not like a demand, but like a reminder. After holding back so long, it takes a second to convince my hand to reach for my cock. The first touch is so intense that it’s almost painful, and I have to loosen my grip to keep from pushing over to actual pain. 

Kip knows what I’m after. He doesn’t bother teasing with a single finger, or even two. He twines three fingers and shoves them in roughly, and the mix of pleasure and pain is perfect. My body protests the sudden intrusion, and it burns as he pushes deeper. I can’t help it when my hips buck, nor the almost sobbing sound that it pushes from me. 

Kip pulls his fingers out, then thrusts them back in. Sets a rhythm that is steady and fast. My body rocks in time with his thrusts, my hand working frantically at my cock. 

“Such a slut,” Kip says softly. 

I let out a groan and release onto the shower floor. Kip leaves his fingers inside me as my body clamps down, orgasm ripping through me. His thrusts gentle until he’s basically pulsing his fingers against my hole. As the pleasure fades and I slowly relax against the floor, he stills his hand. Eventually, he slowly draws his fingers out of me. I feel empty without them, although I’m left with a pleasant soreness. 

What a strange life that has led me here. From emotionless machine to wanton and lustful. Someone who seeks and indulges in pleasure whenever there is time for it. Who is allowed and encouraged to form emotional bonds and physical engagements. Someone who has a life that, while not free from strife, is fulfilling in ways I couldn’t have imagined only a few short months ago. 

Even if it leads to my eventual destruction, I would not regret it. 

Kip pushes himself to his feet, moving under the spray to continue his shower. After a few more seconds, I follow him.

“You don’t have to show off for me, you know,” Kip says, running a loofah over his shoulders. “You don’t have to surprise me, either. You can just ask, and I’ll make time.”

I do know that, actually. 

“This is more fun,” I respond, reaching for the soap myself. Kip makes an exasperated noise. It makes me worry, for a moment, that perhaps I’m misreading the situation. “Do you not want-...”

“No, it’s not… I just don’t want to feel like this is the only way you can get my attention.” He reaches out and takes a hold of my wrist, pulling until I’m close enough to touch. His pale eyes - both uncovered now, where he usually hides the defective one - gaze into my own darker ones. “Things are changing for us, but I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I ignore the slick feeling of his soap against my skin. I pull him close and he leans his head against my shoulder. 

Other things are changing, but… not this. Never this. 

“Okay, I’m good now,” he says after several seconds. He pulls back and we separate. “I should probably finish up and grab a nap, if I don’t want to be snappy with the teenagers later tonight.”

I'm fine with him snapping at the teens. I’d encourage it, actually. But then, Lee has complained that Kip stays up too late studying and pushes himself too hard during training. A nap is probably a good idea for his overall health, not just his mood. 

Kip resumes his lathering. I also pick up soap and begin to wash, having done an insufficient job earlier. We wash quickly, with both of us having been in the shower for a while now and ready to be done with it. It’s a large space, and we’re able to use separate sprays to wash off in tandem. 

We finish at roughly the same time. I step under a dryer, while Kip prefers to grab a towel and dry off. He also spends some time applying lotion to his hands and face while I step into the bedroom and dress. I still have clothes up here, although I’ve been storing more of them downstairs as I spend more time with Dodger than here. 

Kip exits the bathroom, naked except for a loose pair of sleeping pants. I’m in another pair of workout shorts and a tanktop, although I’m not sure if I plan to go back to the gym. Maybe the pool. 

“Take a nap with me?” Kip asks, perching on the edge of the bed. I’m not tired, but I would at least lay down with him for a few minutes. Kip and I don’t sleep in the same bed anymore. While I know that Kip is satisfied with sleeping in Master Zeke’s bed and embrace, I do miss having him close at night. 

But Zeke’s call will likely be over soon, and there’s a good chance he’ll come here after. 

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Kip says, noticing my hesitation. 

“I know that,” I respond.

“But?”

“Not yet. Just a little longer.”

He gives me an understanding smile, leans forward so that I can kiss him before he lays back and settles into the blankets.

I pull the door shut quietly behind me, heading for the freight elevator. As I turn the corner, I can hear footsteps behind me, the soft sound of the door to the Master bedroom opening and closing. I turn back on a whim, hesitating outside the door. I turn the knob and open the door, just enough that I can hear voices inside. 

Master Zeke asking, “Do you want company?”

And Kip responding with, “I wouldn’t mind, but don’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble.”

“Then please. It’s your bed, after all.”

The sound of fabric shifting, likely the bedclothes. Dull thunk of Zeke’s shoes hitting the floor. More shifting, as he slides into bed. A soft murmur from Kip. 

I pull the door shut quietly, leaving them undisturbed. 

It’s good that they’re together. 

It’s my own fault that I’m not with them. 


	5. Jail Break - Dodger POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, 
> 
> I can't believe it's been five weeks already! I'm so excited to get us deeper into the fic. 
> 
> I know I haven't been active in the comments this round, but please feel free to come over to Discord if you want to chat. I'm available most of the time, and we've got an amazing community even if I'm not around. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/mwNfq3x6
> 
> Thank you for taking this journey with me!

“C’mon,” Kip says, tugging at my hand. “I’ve gotten you a reprieve.”

“Nope,” I respond, covering my eyes with my other arm. “It feels like morning. I don’t do mornings.”

“You do today.” He gives another tug, not hard enough to jostle me, but enough to keep me from going back to sleep. I peel one eye open and glance at the other cot, where Zero usually sleeps, but he’s gone already. He typically gets up at an ungodly hour to start training, while Lee comes down a bit later and wakes me up. It’s not usually Kip in this position.

I open both eyes enough to give him a squinty glare.

“Reprieve from what?”

“From your prison sentence in this room.”

Oh. That does sound good.

“Where ya takin’ me? Night club? Karaoke bar? Back-alley pub?”

“How about upstairs kitchen for a first run?”

“Mm. Should I wear my formal attire?”

“If by ‘formal attire’ you mean ‘actual clothes,’ then yes. Definitely.”

I grin as I let him tug me into a sitting position. I stretch and yawn, feeling the ache in my lower body. I can’t sit like this for long, but on the padded mattress of the bed it’s tolerable. I’m healing, although it feels like it’s taking forever. My occasional circuits around the cargo bay have lengthened in the last few days, until I’m able to make three or four circles without getting winded or tired. There’s talk of letting me resume some of my workout routine - although Lee doesn’t look pleased by this decision. Probably remembering the first attempt at letting me shower, although I’ve had at least three since, and none have been so dramatic as the first.

It’s probably the inactivity that’s bothering me the most. I don’t usually have time to just sit around, especially once possible death is no longer an active threat. It makes me feel unnerved and anxious. But the warden - as I like to call my capable but unmoved health professional - has no pity for my neurotic need to be up and moving around my new environment.

So… yeah. Jailbreak. 

Kip hands me something that looks like white pajamas. I manage the shirt on my own, and then he helps me stand and get into the bottoms. They’re kind of loose, probably something he kept around for new assets. I pull the drawstring tight, and he helps me into some slippers. I make it to the bathroom on my own, then brush my teeth and splash water on my face. I braid my hair into a quick fishtail, keeping it up and out of the way. I catch myself in the small mirror over the sink and… Eh. Not a great look for me. Like some kind of escaped mental patient. I still haven’t gotten my hands on a makeup kit, so I’m barefaced and puffy-eyed. Thankfully we’re headed to the professional kitchen. Owners usually have a formal dining room or an eating area in their quarters. 

Kip takes me through the cargo bay and up the freight elevator, which lets out on the third floor. This is typically the owner’s quarters, and it seems that Master Zeke has followed suit. A small hallway leads us down to the professional kitchen, where domestics like Kip prepare meals for owners and their guests. It’s a pretty standard kitchen, maybe a bit smaller than others I’ve seen. There’s a bar along the front - I’ve heard that sometimes owners will come in to watch their domestics work, but I’ve never known one who did that. There’s also a smaller table off to the side, probably for the assets to take breaks as needed. 

“The table?” Kip asks. “Or-”

“Bar would be better,” I tell him, moving in that direction. The bar has high, circle stools. I push myself onto the center stool, balancing most of my weight on my thighs and keeping pressure off of my injured ass. A week ago, even that would have been intolerable, given all the damage I sustained to that area, but it’s faded to more of a dull ache. Progress. Slow progress, but progress. 

Kip makes sure I’m settled, then moves around me into the cooking area. I see him slip into a white jacket, something that I haven’t seen him in before. It suits him, in a weird way. He suddenly looks less like such a porcelain doll and more like a skilled professional. His movements change, too. Gone is the friendly but uncertain demeanor, and his steps gain confidence as he moves toward his home turf. He even looks a little taller, although that’s probably just perspective. 

Someone has already been here this morning, and delicious scents waft from the back of the kitchen. Did Kip come up here first, before he came to get me? He must get up almost as early as Zero. 

Someone else comes out of the back carrying a box of potatoes. It’s one of the newbies - tall and dark-skinned, broad across the shoulders. He’s too big and too dark for anything but a combat asset. Maybe he helps Kip out when he’s not training? Zero and Lee are both skilled combat assets, maybe they’re training him for Zeke to sell? Doesn’t seem to be much point in keeping someone so new in the spare slot. He seems pretty young to be trained as a covert. So… That just leaves combat. 

“How many of these do you want peeled?” the big guy asks. 

“A couple dozen,” Kip responds.

“For the shepherd’s pie? That’s today, right?”

“Yep. I’ll show you how to deal with lamb. Pretty sure you haven’t had to break down lamb chops before.”

The guy laughs. 

“Nah. Wasn’t on the menu back on Sat 14.”

“Lamb was pretty rare on Sat 20, too. No worries.” Kip glances at me, smile fading a bit. “Dodger, have you met Red?”

I think I’ve seen him around a couple times, but that was back when I was on pretty high levels of painkillers. I can’t remember any interactions with him. Better err on the side of caution.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

Red holds his hand out to me. I hesitate, because slaves don’t really shake hands. It’s just… not a thing. This kid must be  _ new _ new.

I don’t want to be rude, though, so I return the gesture. His hand is callused and rough, backing up my assumption that he’s a combat asset. 

“Red,” he introduces. 

I respond with “Dodger,” and a nod.

We separate, and I glance at Kip. 

“There’s another one that I haven’t met, right?” 

The redhead that I’m probably training - nobody thought I should meet him?

“Ruby,” Kip says. “You’ll see him later this morning. He’s training with Zero right now.”

With Zero… I guess Zero is  _ technically _ a pleasure asset. That makes sense.

There’s a pause that feels a little awkward, but then Kip claps his hands in a very “let’s go!” manner.

“Okay. Red, go ahead and get started on the potatoes. Once they’re peeled, you’ll want to give them a rough chop. Quarter inch cubes. Then put them on to boil.”

“I know how to manage a potato!” Red protests, but it’s got a teasing tone to it, and he’s already turning away to move toward one of the kitchen counters.

“Dodger, I’ll get your breakfast here in a second.”

“Sure thing,” I tell him. There’s a gnawing hunger in my stomach, but I’m pretty used to that. I’m not lightheaded or shakey, none of the symptoms to tell me that I’m not getting enough calories. Just my stomach letting me know that it’s empty and displeased.

Kip disappears toward the back. I watch Red for a minute as he settles in and peels the potatoes in a practiced way. He must help out a lot. He’s even in an outfit that resembles Kip’s - black slacks and a white jacket. 

Weird.

My stool can spin, so I spend some time doing that. Tapping my fingers on the table. Wishing I’d brought a screen with me. Something to do with my hands. This place could use some music. 

I’m engrossed enough in my thoughts that I don’t notice Lee come in until he arrests the spinning of my chair. 

“You’re going to fall,” he chides, sliding onto the stool next to me. 

“You never let me have any fun,” I grouse, flopping onto the counter dramatically.

“Yes yes, I’m a tyrant.”

Kip comes back carrying a tray. He smiles at Lee and sets the tray on the bar in front of him. 

“Good timing. Where’s Zeke?”

“Taking a swim.”

“Ah.”

Kip probably needs to know when to have the Master’s breakfast ready. Weird that Lee knows where he is, though. Maybe they passed while Lee was in the gym?

I glance at Lee’s breakfast, but I’ve got no idea what it is. Something white and lumpy in a bowl with mushrooms in it, green onions and sesame seeds on top. A cup of green tea, as expected. A plate of sliced pears.

I must be giving it a skeptical look, because Kip gestures and explains, “It’s vegetarian congee. A rice-based porridge.”

“Oh. Right.” Obviously. 

“Don’t worry,” Lee says, lifting his spoon. “I’m not sharing with you.”

“Fine by me,” I respond, shifting away from him. That stuff looks sketch.

When I glance up, Kip is gone again. Lee is focused on his food. I wish again that I’d thought to bring a screen with me. I sigh and give in to the temptation to spin my stool, earning a glare from Lee. 

Then Kip is back with a second tray, and sets it directly in front of me.

“Breakfast,” he announces with a grin and a gesture. 

It looks… amazing. 

There are five items on the tray - one at every corner and one at the center. Kip is a talented and experienced domestic, and it shows in the extra flair that he adds to even basic meals. Each of the items sit on a decorative, doily-type thing. The center is a bowl about the size of a tea-cup, filled with soup - yellow broth, like the one I’ve been eating all week, plus spiral noodles and chunks of carrots and chicken, with a sprinkling of parsley on top. Top right is toast; a single slice of french bread, golden brown along the edges, and with a single slice of butter on the plate next to it. Top left is applesauce; hardly more than a few spoonfuls in a small dish, with a dusting of cinnamon and sugar on the top. Bottom left is a cup of scrambled eggs, roughly the same size, golden colored and perfectly cooked, light and fluffy and amazing. Bottom right is a few thin slices of pear, looking fresh and crisp and juicy. 

Fuck. 

My mouth waters as I look at it. My stomach clenches. 

How long has it been since I’ve had solid food?

How long will it be until I lose it again?

“What’s the matter?” Kip asks, probably seeing the change in my expression. Shit. I’ve gotta be more careful about that - this one’s too astute to let my guard down. 

“Nothing,” I reply quickly. “It looks great.”

“Then what’s that expression for?”

“Nothing!” I try again, but there’s a stubborn set to his jaw and he doesn’t look like he believes me. I sigh. “It’s always a little bitter-sweet coming off of the white diet, because it seems that much harder when I go back on. Especially when the food is this good. Not that I’m complaining!” I tell him quickly. “It just… is.”

“Go back on?”

“Well… yeah.”

“You’re not going back on.”

“Uhh. Sure. You tell that to the big guy.”

“I’m not... I mean, Zeke won’t-” Now it’s his turn to get flustered. He looks toward Lee for reinforcements. “Tell him he’s not going back on the white diet.”

“Oh course he’s not,” Lee answers. 

I roll my eyes. 

“Sure, guys. The Master is just gonna warn his sex slave every time he wants to fuck. Give him a nice, conscientious hour or two to get ready. Uh-huh. Got it.”

Two sets of eyes stare at me blankly.

“He will,” Lee says. “You’re not going back on the white diet.”

“Zero isn’t on it,” Kip points out. I huff, because I can’t roll my eyes at them again. I just did that like two seconds ago - can’t overuse it. 

“Zero is a special case.” Obviously. “Guys, it’s fine. There’s nothing to be done about it. Pleasure assets cycle through this - it’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

Neither of them looks convinced, so whatever. Fuck it. I pick up my spoon and sip at the broth. The white stuff pretty well messes up your stomach, so I’ll have to be careful if I don’t want to puke. I get a single noodle and chew it thoroughly, but it goes down okay so I nibble at the toast. 

Lee goes back to eating, and Kip wanders off.

I move to the applesauce, because it’s a pretty safe bet on my stomach. It’s warm and sweet and damn! Did he pick these apples himself? I’ve had less satisfying orgasms than this. 

The door opens, but I’m too busy enjoying my breakfast to glance up at Zero’s arrival. There’s only a few spoonfuls of applesauce in the container, probably wise since my stomach has shrunk from minimal use. I contemplate licking the bottom for the last few droplets, but… No. Too crass, even for me. 

Except it’s not Zero who comes up to the counter next to me. I see a flash of blond locks and freeze as Master Zeke slides into the chair next to mine. 

No fanfare. No warning. Not even a creeping fog to announce his presence. Just walks in like anybody else. 

“Hey,” Kip says, and his smile is back as he approaches with a mug in one hand and a plate in the other. He slides both items in front of Master Zeke. “Hazelnut cappuccino and chocolate scone. As requested.”

“You’re the best,” the Master says, and leans over the counter to brush a kiss at Kip’s temple. 

I gape at them. I can’t manage anything else. What the fuck?

Kip smiles and doesn’t flinch back. There’s no awkwardness in the gesture, no confusion in Kip’s eyes. This is a common occurrence. 

Okay. Okay. Kip was a pleasure asset, at least for a while. Apparently Master Zeke is a demonstrative owner - that’s fine. They tend to be quick with the feedback; a kiss for something they like, a swat for something they don’t. Maybe Kip got used to this kind of thing when he was a pleasure asset, and it didn’t stop when he changed back to domestic. That makes sense. Right? Right.

The Master glances at me, and I manage to shut my mouth with an audible snap. Too late, though. He saw me.

Shit shit shit. What should I say?

Master Zeke frowns, then shifts his gaze back to his coffee. Okay, no response needed, apparently. I turn back to my food, trying to be as innocuous as possible. I lift my spoon, but I’m tied up in knots and unable to pull my focus away from the Master sitting next to me. If I try to eat now, I’ll be sick. 

“Is Zero still training?” Kip asks, and thank fuck somebody is jumping into the conversational ring to help my dumb ass out. 

“Yes,” the Master answers. “He wanted to get a longer workout in, since we’ll be away this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“Didn’t I mention? We’re going to Red Seven.”

My spoon drops to the table with a clatter. I curse myself as I feel multiple gazes settling on me. 

The thing is, you either go to Red Seven because you’re looking to buy… or because you’re looking to sell. Sometimes owners host parties there, but that’s kind of a big thing. I’d know if there were any in the works - I haven’t been out of the game for that long. I have a hard time believing that Master Zeke would part with Zero, although anything’s possible with an owner. But who’s to say that they’re not taking somebody else with them? Somebody… Oh, I dunno… Somebody weak and useless, who might need to be carried by a brawny combat asset? 

“Sorry,” I whisper, retrieving my spoon. Then, in a somewhat louder voice, “Just you and Zero taking this trip? No one… Uh… No one else?”

I peer up from under my lashes to find the Master frowning. His eyes skim over me, and my breath catches in my throat. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for an excursion yet,” he says slowly, words measured. “Maybe another time.”

...The fuck does that mean?

Kip must follow my line of thought, because he pushes back into the conversation. 

“It’s kind of a sudden trip,” Kip says, and it’s with a forced casualness. He picks up a rag and wipes a smudge off of the counter. “Any particular reason?”

Zeke has a mouthful of scone - he’s eating  _ right beside me!  _ At the same  _ table _ as his assets! - and he waves a hand, taking a sip of coffee to wash it down. 

“Reynard asked to meet up. I think he wants to chat about the casino opening. Just gossip.”

That happens sometimes, I guess. I forgot that Master Zeke, despite being new, is in the big leagues. Dealers don’t take time to chat with just anybody, but the Master has obviously managed to attract the attention of some powerful people.

My last master had taken a pretty meteoric rise. He’d managed to catch Carter’s attention, and then Carter had introduced him around, helped him make some friends. Even he hadn’t done it this quickly, though.

Kip asks another question, but I lose track of the conversation. I’m too absorbed in my thoughts - what does all this mean for me? Why is this owner so casual? Because he’s new? But surely he’s had employees before? Or someone should have told him how to treat a slave - but then, who would? His assets certainly aren’t going to correct his behavior. And maybe he doesn’t care? Maybe he’s high enough in the social hierarchy that expected protocols don’t apply to him? And-

“You’re not eating much,” I hear from a soft voice on my right. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s Master Zeke talking to me. 

“Oh, uhh…” I trail, unable to come up with a suitable excuse. I’m still hungry, but my nerves are in knots and it’s not doing great things for my stomach.

“He was on the white diet for a long time,” Lee comments from my other side. “It’s a nutrient-based food replacement that keeps pleasure assets available for use at all times. It can cause damage to the stomach lining and intestinal tract. It will take some time for his body to readjust.”

“Ah,” the Master responds. “Well, at least you won’t have that to worry about anymore.”

He can’t know what he’s saying. Or I’m misinterpreting it, because of what Kip and Lee said earlier. He can’t just-... Owners don’t-... It just isn’t  _ done _ that way!

“He might have recurrent issues with his stomach,” Lee puts in, taking a sip of his tea. I know him well enough to see the smug expression around his eyes, though. He likes to be proven right, and he thinks he is. “The white diet has long-term effects, especially after prolonged use.”

“Mm. Well, we’ll deal with the issues as they come.” He finishes off his coffee and pushes himself up from the table. “Kip, can you tell Zero to meet me in the Master suite when he’s finished? No hurry.”

What kind of owner talks like that?

Master Zeke leaves as casually as he entered, simply walking out of the room with no preamble and no entourage. No one even glances up at him. Lee tucks back into his food, while Kip clears the Master’s plate and cup from the counter, then moves off to start chopping something with an alarmingly large knife. Red, who has been in the background this entire time, continues to peel potatoes as though nothing has happened, as though this were just a normal morning for them. 

And the strange part is that I actually think it might be. I think this might be how it is all the time. 

Why is this place so damn weird?

Zero arrives not long after breakfast, and the morning continues in what I’m assuming passes as normal in this place. No one comments on Master Zeke’s arrival or departure, although Kip does convey his message to Zero. Despite the fact that an official, unplanned summoning from an owner is always an ominous event, Zero seems unbothered. He sits next to me and eats a protein-heavy breakfast, while I pick at my own gourmet meal and try to convince my stomach to cooperate. 

After I’ve eaten my fill and then some, Zero accompanies me back downstairs to the medbay. Even knowing that Master Zeke has requested his presence, Zero seems to be in no particular hurry. I can only assume that he’s going to deliver me to the medbay and then head up to the Master suite, as requested. I’m past the stage where someone needs to supervise me at every given minute, especially right now when I’m definitely going to lie down and take a nap.

“Ugh,” I groan, laying my hand over my lower stomach as we walk. “I should not have eaten so much.”

In reality, I didn’t consume much food. I wasn’t able to finish the toast. Couldn’t stomach much of the eggs, either. Something about them made me queasy. The soup went down okay, which was pretty expected. I’ve been eating that broth for a while now and doing alright. The pears I had to eat slowly and chew well, or they gave me a sharp pain in my stomach. I nibbled on them for ages, but I wasn’t about to pass up fresh fruit. Leaving uneaten food on the tray is hard enough, but I wasn’t about to leave the pears. 

‘Course, I’m paying for it now. 

Worth it, though. 

“Lee said your stomach will slowly recover from the damage done by the white diet.”

“Yeah. It always has before. You really think Master Zeke won’t put me back on the white diet? Even after I’ve recovered?”

Zero frowns, confused. Right. He wasn’t in the room for that part of the discussion.

“Master Zeke won’t put you on a diet that is detrimental to your health.”

It’s not like I’ve never been off of the white diet. Owner Jackson had me off of it for months before the Competition, worried that it would affect my physique and my stamina. I’ve had other owners who couldn’t be bothered with it; one that just wasn’t all that interested in the maintenance that goes along with a pleasure asset, and another that simply wasn’t planning on keeping me for very long. But there was always a  _ reason _ to keep me off of the diet that didn’t take into account my health and happiness unless they needed me healthy. The idea of spending the next - what? - seven months off of it for no real reason is… Well, it’s hard to understand.

“Even if he wanted to,” Zero continues, “Lee wouldn't allow it.”

“Lee has that much sway over him, huh?”

“Yes.”

I give a low whistle.

“Master Zeke must really value him. Not many assets hold that kind of power.” Even if they are dual-trained, Competition ready scholars. 

Zero scowls, looking straight ahead. Ah, fuck. Probably stepped over the line. Zero and Lee seem to get along okay, but it looks like Lee has managed to pull himself out of the hierarchy again. Even as Zeke’s favorite pet, Zero isn’t as valuable as Lee. If the Master is worried about keeping Lee happy enough to compete for him, he’d give Lee’s requests extra consideration. I guess I have the benefit of Lee’s protective instincts to thank for my change in diet.

“You nervous about the trip to Red Seven?” I ask. Zero shrugs. “I would be.”

“I can handle it.”

Well, that’s probably true enough. If I could kill a man with little more than an angry look I wouldn’t be afraid of much either. But we’re not all super-human death machines.

We reach the cargo elevator, using it to move between floors. Thankfully, because I’m not sure I could handle stairs right now. The doors close behind us and I lean against the back wall, crossing my arms over my chest. 

“You think the Master’s gonna enter the Competition this year?” I ask. It’s something that’s been on my mind lately. Better to know up front so I can prepare. Owners had speculated, of course. Jackson was pretty convinced that he would enter this year. Others had seemed a bit skeptical, simply because he didn’t seem to be aggressively purchasing Competition-worthy assets. Some thought that he might wait another year before entering.

“He’s planning to compete this year,” Zero confirms. “It’s not public knowledge. He doesn’t want to deal with infighting from the other owners if he can avoid it. But he’s preparing a team to enter the Competition.”

“Ah.” Makes sense. My value is still in my Competition skills, I guess. Even with my epic failure last time, I’m still a two-for-one of Competition level assets. I’ve been around long enough to be trusted with training. I’d hoped to be somebody’s pet, but… 

Not in the cards, I guess.

The door opens again, and we step out. I’m not really sure why Zero felt the need to walk me down here - it’s not like I was going to pass out on the way. Or maybe Lee’s still concerned that I might - he’s a bit of a worrier like that. 

Still, I can’t complain. It’s a nice chance to get to talk to Zero. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately - less than when I first arrived, when it was virtually around the clock, but still a lot. Zero takes the night shift of keeping an eye on me, so I don’t get a lot of chances to actually talk. I get more time with Kip and Lee, who both trade off on occupying the medbay during the day, switching places to attend their other duties. 

“What’d ya think the Master wants to see you for?”

Zero shrugs. No big deal. It’s not like a summoning from the Master can ever be an ominous omen. Not like owners routinely hurt their assets or anything.

“He probably wants to help me get ready for the trip.”

Right. Zero might technically be a pleasure asset, but he’s little more than a glorified pet. Any pleasure asset worth his salt would be humiliated by an owner trying to help him get ready. That’s basics.

I wonder if that’s something I’ll be taking over, once I’m up for it. Or will Master Zeke cut back on taking Zero out so much? His value as a pleasure asset is in his novelty, and that’s something that’s probably wearing off already. Not to mention the fact that he was shared pretty liberally at the casino opening. Not that I’m ungrateful for that - it saved my ass in both literal and figurative ways. But as a tactical move, maybe not the best one. Although maybe I’m worth more to him at this point than Zero’s reputation, depending on how badly he wants to enter the Competition. 

I’m too tired for this right now. 

In the medbay, I lie down daintily on the bed, even though I’d really rather flop myself down. Between my stomach and my stitches, though, that would be a bad idea. I should be getting the stitches out in the next couple days. That would certainly be nice. 

Zero sits down next to me on the bed, lays his hand on my leg. 

“It gets easier.” 

“What gets easier? Eating?”

“Everything. It will get better as you recover. You seem a bit… on edge.”

“Mm,” I respond. Master Zeke’s sudden appearance had thrown me. I hadn’t thought he would appear out of nowhere, and it took me off guard. Doesn’t help that I’m still sans-makeup and not looking my best. Hopefully I can get that rectified sooner rather than later. 

“I probably won’t see you again until this evening,” Zero says. “Because of the trip.”

“Right. Be careful out there.”

He smirks at me. 

“I can take care of myself.”

I toss a grin at him. 

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

“Confident,” he corrects, and it makes me laugh. 

“Yeah, you’re cocky alright. Just don’t let yourself get taken by surprise. Dealer Reynard’s slick. He’s not one to turn your back on.”

“I can handle him. Get some sleep,” he says. “I’ll be back before long.”

Then he stands and turns away from me, heading toward the door. 

“I hope so,” I murmur to myself, my gaze trained on the way his workout shorts hug the curve of his ass and his strong thighs. “I certainly hope so.”


	6. Red Seven - Zero POV

Zeke lets me curl beside him on the bench, my head pillowed on his lap as he strokes my hair. It’s getting longer now, and I feel a slight tug as it catches on his fingers. There’s a soft breeze in this room, and the sound of waves lapping softly against tile. We’re in one of the large oasis rooms. Zeke is sitting on a long bench. Padded cushions soften the wood frame. I’m laying on my side, carefully observing our host from half-lidded eyes. 

Reynard Chanson, the pleasure dealer, sits across from us on a similar bench, with two pleasure assets kneeling on cushions at his feet. Both are slim and pale, looking closer to Ruby’s age than mine. They’re both blonde, although one is lighter than the other. They keep their eyes downcast, their hands in their laps. Completely still. 

There’s a combat asset near the door, several lengths away from us. I keep him just on the edge of my awareness, alert for any movement. He’s dressed in the white pants and shirt that Reynard’s servant-assets wear, but he’s holding the stance of a combat asset - back straight, fists held in front near his hips. He stares straight ahead, his brown eyes aware but unfocused. He’s not overly muscled, not the kind of combat asset who’s more for show than skill.

There had been few combat assets present here on our previous visits - so this one stands out glaringly, considering it’s only Zeke and Reynard meeting. Is he here in case I get aggressive? But I’m pretty close to Reynard. Without a weapon, there’s a slim chance that the combat asset could take me out before I could kill Reynard. If I were considered a threat, there would be more distance between me and the target. So is the combat asset an idle warning? A show of power from Reynard?

It’s all so strange. The parties are weird enough, but I don’t understand this sudden meeting. 

“Thank you for coming,” Reynard says. He’s wearing sunglasses with pink-tinted lenses that give his eyes a reddish look. “I hope I didn’t put you to any trouble. I’m not usually so abrupt with my invitations.”

Reynard is wearing a mauve suit and black, leather shoes. White-rimmed sunglasses on his face - impractical, since he controls the light in this room, and the pink lenses probably don’t do much to dampen the glare. His assets are nude at his feet. Master Zeke is dressed more casually, in tan slacks and a white button-down. I’m naked from the waist up, clad only in tight leather pants. My shoes, black combat boots, are under the bench. A black ringlet encircles my neck, claiming me as off-market property. Reynard’s two assets have green ringlets, meaning that he would be willing to part with them for the right price. The combat asset has a black ringlet, unsurprising given our circumstances. 

“I can’t even pretend that this is a hardship,” Zeke responds. He leans back into the bench, tilting his drink so that the ice rattles in the glass. It’s vibrantly orange. We’re close enough that I can smell the fruit and alcohol.

I’ve been avoiding Zeke lately. This is the closest prolonged contact we’ve had in the last two weeks. And yet, it doesn’t feel weird or out of sync. I can still read Zeke’s body language, can still hear his unspoken cues. It’s a return to normalcy. Is it because we’re in public? Have I gotten good enough at being a pleasure asset that even this doesn’t feel odd? Or is this simply something that hasn’t faded between us, the bond of dominance and submission between us? Is that unbroken and undamaged?

It’s so easy to fall back into this role. When we return, will I be able to separate myself from him again? Or will the cycle start anew, another circle of affection leading only to heartbreak?

“So Carter tells me that you’ve been putting him off lately,” Reynard says to Zeke. Both of them are blind to my inner turmoil. If it weren’t for Zeke’s stroking fingers, I’d think he’d forgotten me. “He said he agreed to come give you some pointers on the Competition, but now you’ve gotten cold feet?”

This is the first I’m hearing of a bargain between Zeke and Carter. It makes sense, though. I had assumed that Zeke allowing Carter to kiss Lee was some kind of political maneuvering - it’s too out of character for Zeke otherwise. Zeke is not particularly free with his assets, and especially not Lee. 

“I haven’t-” Master says indignantly, then huffs in annoyance. “He wants to come to my ship. Says it’s easier to assess the assets in their natural environment. But I just bought a damaged asset, and everyone’s still settling from his arrival.”

“He survived, then? Incubus?”

“Yes. It was close, but he made it.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s a survivor, that one. Did you know that I gave him that name?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Mm. When he first became an asset. He was even younger than these two,” Reynard says, gesturing at the pair at his feet. “Just days over his eighteenth birthday.”

“I’ve wondered how he survived the collapse of his Satellite. How he got away when so many died.”

Reynard shrugs. I watch him through slitted eyes, finding a sudden interest in the topic. 

“I don’t know how he lived. It was several years before he came into my possession, as we don’t take underage assets. I believe he spent that time with a crew of transient workers doing manual labor. Asteroid mining, if I’m not mistaken, although I believe they shuttled drugs as well. Very low class, very plebeian. It was a lot of work to refine him once he was sold in. The end result was very promising, though. It’s been a disappointment that he hasn’t taken a top place in the Competition.”

“Do you think he still could?” Zeke asks. 

“Thinking of entering him?”

“Perhaps. I like to keep my options open.”

“It’s hard to say. He’s got the skills for it, the right look and body type. He’s on the cusp of too old, though.”

“Too old? Is there an age limit for pleasure assets?”

“No, there are few rules in the pleasure division. Just that the asset must perform in front of the audience, without interference from his owner. Drugs and stimulants are fine, toys are allowed. Just as long as the asset is alone.”

“So I’m not allowed to coach him or fuck him during the performance?”

“No. The owners are seated in the audience. The asset must perform on his own, without cues or influence.”

Zeke is tense. Worried, or upset? It doesn’t filter into his voice, though. 

“Why? That seems unnecessary.”

“The reasons for these rules aren’t always immediately evident,” Reynard responds. “It could represent a display of indirect control, showing that the asset can function without constant discipline and reward from the owner. It could simply be that some owners would affect the outcome of the judgement.” Reynard’s eyes run over Zeke’s form, then meet my Master’s in what seems to be a pointed look. “Specifically with more or less attractive owners, it might be difficult to separate the asset’s merit from the owner’s.”

“I suppose that’s valid,” Zeke responds, but his voice sounds displeased. “Although a bit bland. Toys and solo performances only? How uninspired.”

“It adds a level of difficulty. Many of the assets add an element of dance or music to their routine. Others inflict damage on themselves for sexual pleasure. The point is to titillate and tease. To make an owner  _ want _ them without touching or being touched.”

“So these performances never include a second asset? A second participant?”

Reynard pauses for a moment. He seems to be appraising Zeke. Perhaps as potential competition? But no, I don’t think dealers can compete in their own category. Can they?

“Only assets entered in the Competition are allowed on the stage during performances. That creates an exception to the solo act. An owner can allow his two pleasure assets to share the same act, giving them the same time slot and allowing them to interact during their performance. However,” Reynard says with emphasis, “it’s a risk. The assets will take the same score. So if it's low, there’s no chance to even it out. And these performances have, in the past, only done moderately well, even with two very skilled and experienced assets. That’s why most owners don’t attempt it.” Reynard raises an eyebrow and says, “With an uncertain asset like Incubus, I’m not sure it would be a wise risk.”

Zeke pauses, seems to think that over. I carefully glance up at him, wary of distracting either of the owners. Zeke’s expression is pensive, but engaged. He’s eager for more information. This is good data to have, since I know that he intends to enter the Competition this year, regardless of what he tells other owners.

“If there’s no rule against it,” Zeke asks, “why aren’t older assets entered?”

Reynard smiles and shifts his position. He strokes one of his pleasure asset’s hair, but the asset doesn’t look up or acknowledge the touch.

“What you have to understand about the pleasure competition is that there’s no formal point system. It’s all about trends. Assets in their early twenties score better than late-twenties or even late-teens. Light assets score better than dark assets, although there’s a little leeway in that. Slim assets score better than bulky ones. Androgynous and effeminate do better than fully masculine. All of the disciplines have these kinds of trends toward the ideal asset, but it’s more pronounced in pleasure, where winners are chosen based purely on the judges’ discretion.”

Zeke is frowning, a look of concern on his face. 

“Surely there has to be some adjustment for the difficulty of the act and the skill of the asset?”

“Of course. If the asset is not skilled or charismatic enough, their looks will not make up for it. Enthusiasm counts as well. I think that’s what affected Incubus’s last attempt - he seemed off his game.”

“So an asset that doesn’t fit the normal description could do well if he were skilled and enthusiastic?”

Reynard frowns, puzzled. Then his eyes flick to me and comprehension dawns. He throws his head back in a laugh.

“You’re not seriously considering entering  _ him _ , are you?”

“I’d considered it,” Zeke says in a sullen tone, tilting his glass so the ice clinks against the sides.

“The cosmetic work alone would take too long to hit this year’s game. Plus… he’s short for a pleasure asset, and compact where he should be slender. He doesn’t move like a pleasure asset. Even beyond his looks, you’re taking an asset untrained in pleasure and hoping to compete him within a year. It usually takes at least three or four years of dedicated training to become a skilled pleasure asset - that’s why mid-twenties do better than the late-teen assets.”

There’s another pause. Zeke seems uneasy, but he covers it with a shrug. 

“It was just a thought. He’s been so popular, I’d assumed I could shift that attention to the Competition.”

“He’s infamous, not popular. Like a trained tiger. That doesn’t mean the tiger has a chance of getting you a Competition win either.”

“I see,” Zeke says, and then takes a long pull from his drink.

There’s a pause in the conversation. Reynard sips at his drink as well; a pale yellow concoction in a tall glass. Zeke seems deep in thought, his fingers still carding absently through my hair.

After some time has passed, Reynard pushes the conversation forward again. 

“So he’s still recovering, then? Your new pleasure slave.”

“Oh, yes. He’s doing well, although he’s still got a long way to go.”

“Sexual injuries tend to look worse than they are. They bleed a lot, but if you can get that under control, they’re generally survivable. I’m assuming he was on a white diet, so the risk of infection was low?”

“He was.”

“That’s good. They hate it, but,” Reynard makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Saps their energy after a while, though. I put mine on a rotation. Might be something to think about in the future with yours.”

Zeke hesitates. Seems to be mulling his words over.

“I was surprised by how violent the event was.”

“Yes, ghastly, wasn’t it? You don’t perform that kind of act out in the open, with the general populace. I can’t tell you how many owners I saw bolting the other direction.”

“I… didn’t notice.”

Reynard laughs, a sharp bark. 

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.”

“Your club just seemed so much more…”

“Enticing? Pleasurable? Normal?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t get me wrong. We have that type of thing. But not everyone is into that, and not all of them want it to be thrown in their faces.”

“It was similar at The Line, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but The Line was a much smaller venture. Owners could easily step away from a performance that wasn’t to their taste, compared to that display right in the middle of the floor. And it wasn’t the only obnoxiously overdone performance, either. Honestly, I just don’t think James is up to handling something of this caliber.”

“The Line did pretty well, though.”

“A tiny little bar that  _ sometimes _ catered to the Leash. It’s not even in the same class. James isn’t even a Champion, I don’t have any idea how he’s been allowed to expand so much.”

“You don’t have to be a Champion to run a business within the Leash, do you? I mean, the Dealers are, but what about Magdelene? She’s not a Champion.”

Reynard waves a hand, leaning back comfortably in his seat.

“Maggie has been in this business for ages. She’s an independent, and despite the demand for her products, she’s actually very exclusive. Only a dozen or so owners are able to make requests from her.”

Master Zeke has gotten several outfits from Magdelene Empire. I accompanied him on his first trip to see her.

“Besides,” Reynard continues, “I would be surprised if that didn’t change within the next couple years. Things are changing. Shifting. It used to be every five or six years that we’d get a new Champion - before that, it was the same people winning over and over. Dillon has won four or five times. Ellaine won three times. Even Petir took two wins before he became the combat Dealer.”

“I didn’t know that. It makes sense, though. The same teams competing, winning multiple times.”

Reynard gives Master Zeke an appraising look. 

“Not the same teams,” he says carefully, then takes a sip of his drink. “Not usually. They’ve told you that the Controller buys the top assets, right? He puts in offers for the top asset in every category, but… he always buys the winning assets from a Champion’s team. I don’t think we’ve ever had a Champion that didn’t take a top place in at least one category. Sometimes the whole group, if they were all winners and forfeits. Perhaps it evens the playing field for the next year’s Competition. Or maybe he’s just squirreling away the best assets for his own use. Who can say?”

“I… had been told he would make an offer. I had assumed that I would be given the option to refuse.”

Master Zeke wouldn’t sell us. I know this. I  _ know _ this.

Reynard shrugs. “That’s something you’d have to take up with the Controller. I doubt it’ll be an issue any time soon - not with the ragtag little team you’re putting together.”

Master Zeke frowns. 

“I have some quality assets,” he defends. 

“Mm. And some duds. Your scholar from Ellaine is a good piece, I’ll give you that. Dual trained, and he’s competed before. Ellaine’s smart enough to keep him off her team when she’s aiming to take a championship. And Carme’s little domestic is a safe bet, if he’s still alive. The zero will get you a high place in combat. And what else do you have? Incubus, who’s uncertain at best. And Dillon’s party favor, unless you’ve sold him. Then forfeits in the rest.”

“I’m training my zero in pleasure,” Zeke points out. Reynard scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

“Dillon’s little redhead would be a better bet than your zero, even if he is a spitfire. And untrained. Although Incubus can help you with both those issues, given a bit of time. I’ve taken on several assets that he’s helped with foundational knowledge. He’d make a good trainer, although he’s still more valuable as a Competition asset at this point. That’ll change if he doesn’t take a win this year, though.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Master responds. “I think we were talking about Peterson?” he redirects. 

“Ah, yes. James isn’t a Champion. He’s been here for five years and has only entered a handful of assets into the Competition - and then sold those as soon as he raised their value. He’s only interested in turning a profit. And I think he’s stretched himself too far with this recent investment. I think he’s getting strapped for cash. Don’t think I haven’t noticed him hounding you for Earth-quality products at discount rates. It’s because he can turn such a high profit margin on them.”

“Yes, he and I had a disagreement about that.”

At the casino opening, when Owner Peterson had directed Master Zeke into the Red Rooms, instead of toward Dodger. It had delayed Master Zeke, causing him difficulties in getting Dodger. Those issues had almost cost Dodger his life.

“I figured as much. There’s no other reason he would have been so hostile to you during the opening. You’ve likely made an enemy in that one.”

Zeke shrugs, nonchalant.

“I’ll survive.  _ I’m _ not the one who was relying on our partnership for illegal exports.”

“James and Dillon are close,” Reynard points out. “And I hear that you’re courting Dillon to be your sponsor.”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet. As you’ve pointed out, my team is still uncertain. It’s just an assumption that I’m even competing this year.”

A true assumption. An obvious one, from Reynard’s reaction.

“Has Carter offered to sponsor you?” Reynard asks. Zeke shrugs, unwilling to divulge more about the topic. “I thought he might. He seems to like you. And he’s not sponsoring Jackson a second time, so he’s looking for another potential competitor.”

“Is that why Jackson sold Incubus?” Zeke asks. “To raise Competition funds?”

“In part, although Incubus’s value took a steep dive after last year’s debacle. But you know all about that.”

“Mm,” Zeke responds, but doesn’t seem willing to discuss the topic. 

Zeke strokes his fingers through my hair, trails them down my neck, then settles at running little circles over my shoulder. 

“So why am I here?”

Reynard stares at the fingers stroking my shoulder and does not respond. 

“What did you call me for today, Reynard?” Master asks. “What do you want from me?”

The pleasure dealer leans over, bracing his elbow on the arm of his bench and leaning against it. A smile curves his lips.

“Well, the primary reason is because Carter asked me to check on you. When you delayed his visit, he thought James’ little stunt might have scared you off.”

“I was disgusted,” Zeke responds hotly, “not frightened.”

“I figured as much,” Reynard says, smirking.

“And a vid-call would have sufficed.”

“True.”

“So?”

“You’ve become very popular,” Reynard says slowly. “You can’t be blind to the powerful friends you’re rapidly acquiring. And yet, you’re still so new to this. So naive to how everything works. I suppose that I wanted to see exactly what about you has attracted so much attention.”

Zeke hesitates, his fingers still on my skin.

“I’d think that would be obvious,” Zeke contends. His fingers move again, tracing the length of my spine.

“I don’t think your pet alone accounts for your meteoric rise in status.”

“Then what do you think?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Reynard muses. His fingers - already resting against his face - fiddle with the frame of his glasses. “It’s something I’ve been trying to puzzle out myself. What is it about you? What makes your performances so interesting? You’ve got a handful of assets, and only one that you show with any regularity. He’s an interesting piece, I’ll grant you, but his novelty is already wearing off. So how is it that your popularity only continues to grow?”

Master leans back in his chair, his hand settling at my neck.

“Are you looking for a demonstration?”

“If you’d be so inclined.”

The fingers stroke along my jaw, then brush over my lips. I open my mouth, but Master Zeke doesn’t delve inside. His fingers return to my throat again, still gently brushing over my skin.

“It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I should give away for free,” Master argues. 

“Come now, don’t you think there’s enough value in what I’ve already given you?” Reynard responds. “Or did you think I’d trade information like that out of the goodness of my heart?”

There’s a mocking lilt to Reynard’s voice, like the thought itself is preposterous. 

I can feel Zeke’s reluctance crumbling - it was probably more to save face, anyway. He rarely passes up a chance to show me off. 

“Besides,” Reynard continues, “it’s not like he hasn’t been sampled by half the members already. Or have you forgotten how freely you traded him around for Incubus?”

Master’s fingers stop moving and lay heavily on the skin of my throat. It’s the only outward sign that this comment bothers him. 

It was my idea to offer my body in place of Dodger’s. In my efforts to save Dodger’s life, it had seemed like the logical choice. Zeke had seemed reluctant, but I’d chalked it up to his unwillingness to share me. Now I wonder if I’ve devalued myself as a pleasure asset. I know that my popularity relies more on my notoriety than my skills, unlike a traditional pleasure asset. Have I destroyed my own reputation?

“I’m only looking for a demonstration,” Reynard says. “I rather thought you’d be looking to make friends and alliances, given how recently you made an enemy for yourself.”

Master Zeke hesitates for a long moment. 

“I just want to be careful of how I pick my friends,” Master says, leaning forward and locking gazes with Reynard. “After that debacle with James.”

Reynard smiles slowly, the smirking expression settling on his face. 

“That was a mistake in judgement,” Reynard says.

“And this isn’t?”

Reynard shrugs, smug grin on his face. 

“Only time will tell, won’t it? But I can assure you that Dealers hold a lot of power in the Leash. An alliance with a Dealer is always a good move.”

“Except for Petir,” Master points out. “He’s just… disappeared, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Shortly after meeting privately with you, wasn’t it?” Reynard tilts his head in a contemplating manner. “Think I’ll be next?”

There’s an obvious implication that Master had something to do with Petir’s disappearance. This seems very unlikely, as I was Master Zeke’s only asset at the time, and I didn’t have anything to do with it. There are also rules preventing owners from killing other owners, although I have a hard time believing that it has never happened. 

Master Zeke says nothing in his own defense, and the implication hangs between the two men.

I feel myself tensing as time continues to pass silently. What’s the next step here? What are they waiting for? Is this why Reynard brought the combat asset? Because he planned to level this kind of accusation on Master Zeke? I can defend Zeke and myself from an attack, but I’m not sure I can get us back to the ship. Reynard has the territorial advantage. He could easily lock us in here, wait us out. He could-

Zeke leans back in his seat, spreading his arms. He glances at me, and I raise my eyes to meet his. There’s a smile on his face. 

“What do you think?” Zeke muses. “Should we give the man a performance?”

It’s a rhetorical question. When I nod, it’s only because I know that he wants me to.

Time to give the pleasure Dealer a show. 

Zeke shifts, and I move off of him so that he can stand. I get to my knees, although the constricting pants that I’m wearing make it difficult. They’d certainly hinder me in a fight. 

I cast a glance at the combat asset still waiting near the door. He hasn’t shifted or tensed, although I know that he’s aware of us. Not an imminent threat, but a present one.

“Where do you want us?” Master asks. “The floor?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Reynard responds. “I’m more hospitable than that.”

He gestures to the combat asset, who leaves his station by the door and moves toward us. I get to my feet, positioning myself between Master Zeke and the combat asset. Only after I’m in place do I realize that I haven’t been given permission to stand.

The owners realize it, too. I can tell by the uncomfortable silence that settles between them as they both stare at me. 

Reynard adjusts his glasses and says, “Protective, isn’t he?”

“Mm,” Master responds. “It’s not a tendency that I’ve tried to break.”

“I shouldn’t think so.” Reynard smiles. “Could come in handy. Not today, though.” He turns to the combat asset. “Have a platform brought in.”

The combat asset bows his head, then quickly moves toward the exit. He doesn’t even glance at me. Doesn’t hesitate at the door. So he wasn’t here to defend Reynard from me, or he wouldn’t have left us alone.

Reynard sips at his drink. After a moment, Master sits back down. I fall into standing pleasure-rest, with my hands laced behind my back. The two pleasure assets sit silently. Neither has so much as raised his head. 

Master must notice that as well, because he frowns at them. It’s a look of concern and confusion. Reynard smiles and reaches out to touch one’s head. The blonde doesn’t react, not even when Reynard’s hand moves to his chin, forcing his head up and turning it to the side. Glazed blue eyes blink dreamily at us, unfocused and heavily drugged. The boy licks his lips and then frowns slowly, confusion flowing into his expression at a trickle. His eyes move across the room, and he seems to make an attempt to rouse himself. After a moment, though, the expression fades back into dull, dreamy neutrality. 

“These two are quite new,” Reynard comments. He shifts his hold so that he can press two fingers into the blonde’s lax mouth. The slave doesn’t react; doesn’t suck the fingers in, nor does he try to pull away or expel him. His eyes shift down briefly, then slowly blink closed and open again. 

“I keep them lightly sedated for the first few months of training,” Reynard says, his fingers still inside the asset’s mouth. “It makes the adjustment easier on them. Too much pressure can make their psyche crack and shatter, better to slow the adjustment. Temper the asset. Of course, that’s only if you want something long-term. We don’t bother with that kind of training for lesser investments.”

“The blonde that I got from you wasn’t trained like that.”

Kip - he’d been with Reynard when we’d found him. Zeke had discovered later that his training as a pleasure asset was seriously lacking, and that the discipline didn’t suit him anyway. His talents were wasted as a body slave, with his considerable experience and intellect. 

“I warned you about that one. On the cusp of too old, sickly and high strung. We only put this kind of effort into new assets, ones that need adjustment period and are worth the effort.”

Reynard pulls his hand away, his fingers leaving the asset’s mouth. The blonde’s mouth slowly closes. He swallows, and blinks sleepily. His head lowers again, seemingly of its own accord. 

Reynard pulls a handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and uses it to wipe his fingers. I glance up at Master Zeke, but his expression is carefully neutral. 

“Of course, there are some exceptions,” Reynard muses. “Your Incubus was one. Hardly needed any adjustment period. From what I understand, he’d been servicing the crew on that little garbage ship for years.”

Master Zeke stills. There’s no outward sign, but I can tell that something Reynard said has upset him. Still, his voice is neutral when he responds with, “I didn’t know that.” His expression conveys mild curiosity. You’d have to be looking at his body to see his unease, and even then you’d have to know him as well as I do.

“He hardly needed any convincing about his new role,” Reynard continues, seemingly unaware of Master’s tension, “although he did require a rather firm hand on discipline. Manners and hygiene were pretty foreign concepts to him,” Reynard says in an amused tone, and chuckles at his own joke.

“I can imagine,” Master comments. “It sounds like the transients did half your job for you, though.”

“Mm. Although I doubt sex was ever a foreign concept to him - you know Satellite 12 had no real business or infrastructure. Toward the end, it was all whores and drug runners.”

“Yes.”

“A cesspool, really. It’s probably for the best, what happened to it.”

Master turns his head away. He covers it by reaching for his drink, which is sitting on a side table. He takes a long drink, draining the glass. The ice rattles, then he sets the empty cup back on the table.

“Another?” Reynard asks. 

“No, thank you.” There’s a brief pause, and then Master prompts, “You were saying about Incubus?”

“Oh, yes. Such promise during training. It’s a shame, what happened.”

“He had an accident, didn’t he?”

“So you’ve heard,” Reynard responds approvingly. 

“My current scholar was the one who treated him at bloodsports. Said his owner threw him down a flight of stairs, if I remember correctly. Broke his collarbone. Took several months to rehabilitate him.”

“New owners can be so careless. I was rather upset to hear that such a promising asset had been wasted.”

“Wasted?”

“Mm. An accident like that, so early in his career. It was almost a year before someone else bought him, and then he still needed months and months of recovery and retraining. He came back here for a while once he’d healed, so that he could brush up on his skills. It pushed back his first Competition nearly two years, and even then he wasn’t the same. I’d say it was four or five years before he was really back to his best.”

“Seems like pleasure assets live a pretty brutal life.”

“Sometimes. Of course, most of them aren’t as durable as your zero,” Reynard says with a smirk. “I doubt he’d have broken anything if pushed down the stairs.”

That’s probably true. I have the skills and reflexes to catch myself or lower the impact of my landing. Still, I shouldn’t  _ have _ to keep my guard up around my owner, the one person who has a vested interest in keeping me alive. I know how it feels to have that person betray you, how alone and hopeless that can make you. If all of Dodger’s owners have been so callous, it’s no wonder he reacts to Zeke with so much suspicion. 

The sound of a door opening interrupts the flow of conversation. It’s not the door at the front of the room, where the combat asset exited. Instead, there must be a door toward the back, because the combat asset returns from the rear of the room. He’s trailed by four other assets, all wearing the white uniform of the general workers. They’re pulling a bed-sized platform with them, a wooden box on wheels with a mattress on top. They bring the platform to a stop in an open area in front of Master Zeke and Reynard. I see the assets do something to the wheels, and then the four of them exit through the back again while the combat asset resumes his station by the door. 

“Will this suffice for your asset’s comfort?” Reynard asks, nodding toward the platform. 

“More than sufficient,” Master responds, and then looks toward me. “Go on. Undress and present yourself.”


	7. Red Seven Part 2 - Zero POV

Master Zeke looks toward me. He’s sitting on the bench again, across from Reynard. I’m still standing in pleasure-rest position, my arms crossed behind my back. I keep the combat asset in the room in my peripheral vision, even though he’s resumed his station by the door. Reynard’s two pleasure assets are still kneeling at his feet, staring vacantly into space. 

“Go on,” Master tells me. “Undress and present yourself.”

The command is a welcome directive. It makes something in me relax. Uncoil. This is standard procedure for events where I’m displayed as a pleasure asset. The return to routine is a relief, as this meeting has seemed oddly fraught so far. 

The pants come off, releasing their constriction on my lower body. I’m naked, but I don’t feel any more exposed than I had before. The lack of a weapon bothers me more than the lack of clothes, and neither bother me very much. I am confident in my hand-to-hand skills and my ability to get Zeke out of dangerous situations unharmed. 

I climb onto the platform and it doesn’t move, confirming my suspicion that the assets somehow locked the wheels in place before they left. It would hinder the performance to have the platform moving around while the asset performed. The mattress on top of it surprises me - although quite thick, it is not as soft as it appears. It’s dense, and I don’t sink into it as I climb up. It’s more of a cushion than a mattress. Although comfortable, it does not impede my freedom of movement. 

When Master asks me to present, he’s usually talking about my ass. So I kneel with my head away from the two seated owners, my legs spread, and my shoulders against the mattress. I fold my arms under my head, waiting for further instruction. 

Master seems to enjoy the view, or perhaps he wanted to give Reynard enough time to look me over. It takes several seconds for Master to give a second order. 

“Open yourself up for me,” Master tells me. I’d been expecting the command, since Master Zeke hasn’t gotten up to approach me. It means that I’ll be performing a solo show, at least for the next few minutes. 

I reach under myself and between my legs, easily finding my own entrance and plunging a single finger inside. It’s the middle finger, and I let my other fingers stretch out over my ass, because Zeke has told me that it creates a more arousing image. I thrust the finger gently, getting used to the feel. After a moment, I pull it out and twine it with the index finger, then press them both inside. My body was cleaned, stretched, and lubricated before we left, so my hole complies easily with the intrusion. Still, it’s a bit strange. I like it better when someone else does this for me. It has a mechanical feeling, doing it by myself.

I continue to give shallow thrusts into my body, scissoring my fingers at times so that the owners can get a view of my stretched hole. My cock hardens between my legs as a reaction to the stimulation. I don’t try to control it, knowing that Zeke typically prefers me to be aroused during these scenes.

“You’re too dry,” Zeke complains. “Wet your fingers, then add a third.”

Without hesitation, I pull my fingers from my ass. There is a sharp, empty and unfinished feeling, but I ignore it. I move my hand to my mouth, and wet my first three fingers with saliva. I sit up, and turn my face just enough to make sure that the owners can see me do it, can see how deep I thrust my fingers and how my tongue works over them. I know that I’m clean inside, so the idea of moving my fingers between my ass and mouth doesn’t bother me. The lubricant has a bit of a chemical taste. It leaves an unpleasant feeling in my mouth, but I know Zeke wouldn’t have requested this if the lubricant weren’t safe to ingest.

I lean back over, pressing three saliva-slicked fingers into my body. The addition of saliva doesn’t ease the passage any more than the lubricant alone had, so I assume that Master’s request was only for the visual effect. I thrust my fingers in and out, feeling a bit of a stretch from all three. My cock, now fully erect, bobs between my legs, untouched.

“Are you going to join him?” I hear Reynard ask Zeke. 

“Are you not enjoying the show?”

“It’s certainly an arousing image, don’t get me wrong. I can understand why people were so curious. But I’m rather more interested in seeing how he interacts with you, rather than seeing him alone.”

I hear Master stand, and the sound of clothing being removed. 

“Fair enough,” Master responds, and I feel his weight settle on the platform with me. “It’s certainly no great sacrifice for me to fuck him.”

I’m pretty sure that Master was always planning to fuck me during this performance. He rarely chooses not to interact, and even less often when there’s not another asset for me to work with. Reynard’s two assets would not make a good show, for a multitude of reasons. It would be easier if Dodger had come along, but he’s still weeks away from resuming work as a pleasure asset. 

Master has taken his shirt off, but I can feel that he’s still wearing pants as he shifts to move alongside me. I hesitate, unsure if I should continue to fuck myself or turn my attention to my Master. Zeke takes the decision from me by pulling my hand away from my entrance. My fingers easily slide free, giving a bit of a squelch as they leave my body. Then Zeke’s fingers are pressing inside me; longer than my own, pushing deeper inside my body. It’s all I can do not to groan at the feeling. My hips move without permission, bucking against his hand. 

“Needy,” Reynard comments. 

“Mm. This one’s a natural slut.”

The name doesn’t bother me. Master says it in an affectionate tone, like it’s an endearment rather than an insult. I don’t mind being a slut for him. Giving in to my body’s wants and desires, so long ignored and non-existant before Zeke found me and introduced me to these sensations and desires. Now I can’t get enough, letting them wash over me and fill the empty spaces inside. Letting them drown out the uncertainty. The guilt. The fear. 

If that makes me a slut, so be it. 

Master Zeke pulls his fingers out. I stay in position, with my head down and my ass exposed, waiting for his direction. I can feel Reynard’s gaze on my body, the appraising eyes behind pink-tinted lenses. Zeke lets his fingers stroke down my perineum, then toy gently with my testicles. 

“We could remove those, you know,” Reynard offers. There's a teasing undertone to it, but I still have to hold back a flinch. “Might make him more docile.”

“Mm. I prefer him like this,” Zeke responds. “A little fire is more fun, don’t you think?”

“I prefer obedience to personality.”

“Oh, this one’s obedient enough.” Zeke shifts, pushing himself up on his knees. “Obedient and eager. Show him how eager you are for me.”

I sit up and crawl forward, understanding at once the kind of demonstration Zeke is looking for. I can see my Master’s hardness even inside the confines of his pants, and I press my mouth eagerly against the bulge. I lay eager, wet kisses there, mouthing the shape of his cock through the fabric. I feel my Master put his fingers into my hair. They’re still slick with lubricant, but I ignore the unpleasant, sticky feeling. 

“What do you think?” I hear Zeke ask. “Obedient enough?”

“He’s certainly enthusiastic,” Reynard responds. 

“Should I give you my cock?” Zeke asks, and I can tell that the question is directed at me this time. “Do you want it badly enough?”

I let out a whining sound, still keeping my face against Zeke’s crotch. We’ve worked on this sound, with Zeke coaching me until it comes out needy and plaintive. I get it right this time, and even I can hear the desperate, begging quality to it. 

“On your back, I think,” Zeke says, already pulling away from me. “Spread yourself for me.”

I turn over, and lay on my back with my legs raised, my knees spread. It gives Reynard a better view of my erect cock, along with my chest area. I make sure to keep my abs taut, so that he can see the definition in my muscles. I place my hands on my inner thighs, as though I’m holding them open. In truth, I wouldn’t have any issue holding this position even without my hands. 

Zeke removes the rest of his clothes. Standing next to the bed, I can see why someone like him would be banned from getting on stage during the pleasure Competition. He’s easily attractive enough to rival any asset. A statue-like, well proportioned body. Silken, gold hair. And an impressive length and girth to a perfectly proportioned and symmetrical cock, nestled against a patch of slightly darker pubic hair. Long legs. Lean muscles. A sculpted face with high cheekbones and a slim, pink mouth. 

As a pleasure asset, he’d fetch a very high price, although not from the same men who were interested in tiny, petite slaves like the two at Reynard’s feet. Only Zeke’s age would work against him. Is it something I need to be concerned about? I’ve never heard of an owner being turned into an asset. To my knowledge, it isn’t done. 

Zeke kneels on the bed and leans over me. Reynard pushes aside his lethargic assets and gets to his feet, walking around the platform to get a better view. I try to ignore him, but he’s prowling like a predator, and it’s reading to my subconscious as a threat. Combined with the combat asset back at his post by the door, it’s putting me on edge. My body tenses, my eyes pulled toward the two potential hostiles. 

“Focus,” Master Zeke says, bringing my attention back. 

“Easily distracted?” Reynard asks, but I don’t let myself look at him. 

“There are some habits left from his time as a combat asset that are harder to break than others. It takes a bit of patience.”

Reynard makes a noise from beyond the bed, but without looking at him I can’t tell if it’s agreement or scorn. I keep my gaze focused on Master, meeting blue eyes with my own metallic ones. 

“Better,” Master comments after a moment, when the tension has faded from me. The small praise sends warmth through me. It feels like success.

Master’s cock is hard between his legs, and he shifts to rub it against mine. The glide of his skin on mine is slightly wet, letting me know that he’s slicked himself to ease the passage. He rolls his hips against mine a few times, then slides back further. The head of his cock drags against my testicles, then disappears from my view. I can feel the bulbous head pressing against my entrance, and my own cock twitches in anticipation. 

There are times when Zeke thrusts into my body in a single, solid motion. Times where our joining is almost instantaneous. His cock forces its way inside me almost violently, but without pain. As though it has always belonged there. A dagger in its sheath. An arrow in its quiver. A gun in its holster. A seamless transition of two things becoming one. 

This comes to mind only as a contrast to this joining. Instead of a solid, smooth movement, Zeke teases his cock against my entrance with shallow, unfulfilling thrusts. He plays with my opening, dragging the head of his cock in slow circles around my rim, only to press gently against my willing body and then draw away again. I have to hold my legs to keep from forcing him forward. It’s a struggle to keep myself still, keep myself from pressing back against him. I’m panting by the time he finally deigns to press the head of his cock inside me. 

Even then, the torment doesn’t stop, with Zeke penetrating me with excruciating slowness. My body tries to pull him in, but he holds back, feeding me his cock a millimeter at a time. I make a desperate, keening noise, struggling to hold myself in check. Still, Zeke is not swayed, and continues his painfully slow progress. 

Reynard looms over us, leaning down to get a better view of Zeke’s cock slowly disappearing into my body. His glasses slide down his nose, white rims surrounding pink lenses. I catch a glimpse of the back side of the lenses, sophisticated markings denoting the center of a scene from the peripheral edge. And at the bottom, a number counter. 

Shit. Not glasses. Cameras.

My eyes sweep the room. There are four more cameras that I can see, all around the edges of the room. The monitoring is not a shock - that’s standard in the Leash. Even the Arcrest Manor had surveillance. 

But the glasses… that’s a deviation. Why would he need such a good shot? Certainly the surveillance cameras are clear enough to catch our faces. So this is about view. Not just recording the act, but recording it at high quality. Why? There’s nothing obviously illicit about this performance. And the surveillance cameras would be enough proof for blackmail. And there’s nothing that Reynard could hold as blackmail over Zeke that wouldn’t get himself caught up in the scandal as well. 

The artist wears similar glasses. Leonid. The one who wanted Dodger for his own, then fucked him bloody when Dodger chose Zeke. But Leonid wears the glasses all the time. This change in Reynard’s behavior patterns must mean something. 

Zeke surges against me, his cock fully seating at last. My body has tightened up, and the movement sends a twinge of pain through my insides. I take an unsteady breath and relax. Zeke stills, his hips gently rolling against mine without thrusting. 

Reynard straightens and takes a step back, pacing around us for a different angle. I push myself up, wrapping my arms around Zeke’s shoulders and mouthing his neck. Reynard paces to the other side of us, disappearing from my view. 

“Master,” I whisper urgently. “The-”

“Shhhhh,” Master responds, moving his head so that his mouth is pressed against my ear. “I saw it.”

Master hooks my legs over his hips, falling into a rhythm of thrusts. I try to put Reynard’s strange behavior from my mind. I have to trust Master to deal with the situation, but the thought plagues me. 

Who the hell is he recording this for?

I can’t stop to think about it. Not with Master Zeke still moving inside me, and Reynard hovering just at the edge of my vision.

“Do you think he’ll come from this?” Reynard asks. 

He’s standing a few steps away from us. His fingers press against the rim of his glasses, his hand casually on his face, his other arm bracing his elbow to make it look more natural. The gesture takes on a more sinister light, knowing what’s hidden behind the pink lenses. 

“Probably not,” Zeke says, even as he continues to thrust into me. On my back, with my legs hooked around his waist, his thrusts are satisfyingly deep and strong. It’s enough to make me ache for completion, but not quite enough to let me reach it.

I don’t typically come untouched, although I think I probably could in ideal circumstances. This is far from ideal, though. Reynard’s presence has me on edge, and it’s not made any better by the combat asset in my view.

“Perhaps one of my assets could assist,” Reynard comments. 

Zeke hesitates. I can feel it in his body, although he doesn’t stop his movements. Zeke doesn’t often let me interact with other owners' assets, although it has happened occasionally before. I think that he’d prefer to refuse, but there isn’t a convincing reason without being insulting. 

“Zero’s a bit high strung,” Zeke responds. “I wouldn’t want him to damage your asset.”

“Is your zero so rebellious that you can’t control him even when he’s speared on your cock?” Reynard asks. 

Zeke frowns. He was trying to find an excuse not to put me together with the asset, and he’s been called out on it. I don’t think Master has any real concerns about me injuring the other asset. With a few notable exceptions, I don’t attack other assets. 

“Alright,” Zeke comments, pulling his cock out of me and sitting up. He shifts away from me, then lays on his back. He tugs me until I mount him, facing away from him. I enjoy positions where I can ride Master’s cock. 

Reynard takes one of the blonde assets by the arm and pulls him over. The asset moves slowly, but doesn’t resist. Reynard pushes him onto the mattress and he kneels in front of me. Then he hesitates, blinking stupidly at my erect cock while I bounce on Zeke’s dick. 

“Suck it,” Reynard demands. The blonde asset glances up at him, trepidation finally creeping into his expression, then leans down to take my cock into his mouth. 

It’s an inexpert blowjob. Zeke is very good at them, and he’s taken a lot of time to teach me, so I can tell the difference. This one is too much lip and tongue, very little suction. He’s afraid of gagging, so he hardly bobs his head at all until Reynard shoves him down, which causes him to choke on my cock. His reaction makes me flinch, thinking he might bite me. He doesn’t, though. He becomes more enthusiastic after that, possibly worried that Reynard will do it again. I’m able to put the situation from my mind for a moment and focus on the heat around my cock. 

“Master,” I murmur, feeling the edge of my control approach. He’s still moving inside of me, but mostly letting me control the pace. I like to roll my hips against his cock, feeling how deep it is inside me. 

“You’re allowed to orgasm,” Master says. I didn’t think he would deny me.

I let the heat build between my legs, feeling Master’s cock penetrating my body. It doesn’t take long before I’m gasping, surging against Master Zeke, my whole body tightening in anticipation. Then, like an explosion, it hits me. Pleasure overwhelms me, and I groan from the intensity of it. The asset sucking my cock pulls back, but Reynard shoves his head down on my cock, holding him there even as he struggles. He swallows some of my seed, and comes up gagging on the rest when Reynard finally releases him. He falls to the floor, struggling to catch his breath. 

I keep rolling my hips, even as my cock quickly softens. I like the feel of Zeke’s cock in my ass, still hard inside of my pliant body. The pleasure is duller but no less satisfying now that the orgasm has taken the edge off of my need. 

Reynard watches me, not sparing a glance for his wheezing asset on the floor. He’s wearing an appreciative expression, his eyes tracking my hips as they rise and fall.

“He actually enjoys this, doesn’t he?” Reynard asks. ”It’s rare for a pleasure asset to actually enjoy the act.”

“Perhaps that’s why he’s so popular,” Zeke offers. His hands are on my hips, guiding my movements without controlling them. Reynard shrugs. 

“It’s better to have one good at faking it than one that enjoys it. A good actor can occasionally find pleasure in the act. One that enjoys it has a much harder time faking it when the enjoyment stops.”

“Mm,” Zeke responds, acknowledging the comment without agreeing to it. Could I fake it convincingly if I weren’t enjoying it? 

Will there come a point where I stop enjoying it?

“Incubus can show you what I mean. He’s got a lot of experience in this.” In what? Fucking? Or faking it? Or both? “If you’re set on having your zero compete, Incubus can at least help train him properly.”

Zeke doesn’t respond to the words or the hint of insult in them - that I need to be properly trained. Instead, Zeke thrusts his hips up, encouraging me. I bounce harder on his cock, letting the feel of this act push through my worries, drown the insecurities. I wish I could see Zeke’s face, could lean close and kiss his lips, feel his breath against my face. But I don’t dare take the initiative to turn while we’ve got a hostile audience. 

“You know, it looks like this one has taken an interest,” Reynard says. I glance up to see him looking at his second asset, the one still kneeling by his chair. The asset is looking at us, his dull blue eyes following my movements as I slide on Zeke’s cock. The asset seems excited - breathing elevated, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. His cock is hard between his legs, but disproportionately so. Rock hard, while his body is showing only a slight interest. Drugged, would be my guess. He would probably have to be, to manage an erection through the haze of narcotics in his system. 

I feel Zeke shift behind me, pushing himself up on an elbow and peering around me.

“I can see that,” Zeke comments, leaving an opening for Reynard to continue. 

“Perhaps you could fuck him for me,” Reynard offers. “His ass has hardly been broken in yet.”

“I…”

“It would be good experience for him. No need to be careful - pleasure assets are more durable than they appear.”

Master hesitates. I can feel the tension in his body where it meets mine, and in the way he stills my movements. He’s looking for a way out of this, but there’s no opening. A negative response would be insulting to our host, who is a powerful player in the Leash. If Zeke wants to win the Competition, it would be foolish to make an enemy out of someone like Reynard. 

“I’m a bit big for a novice,” Zeke says cautiously. He shifts, pushing himself up further. I pull myself slowly off his cock and move to the side, reading from his body language that I’m no longer needed. His cock glistens with lubricant, still dark red and fully engorged. In both length and girth, Master Zeke is impressive, although not freakishly large. 

“That’s why you’re good experience for him,” Reynard replies, moving to stand beside the blonde. He takes the asset by the arm and pulls him to his feet, dragging him toward the platform. 

The other asset - the first blonde who sucked my cock - is still kneeling on the floor, forgotten. He keeps still, likely not trying to draw attention to himself. It’s a smart move. I hold my place on the bed, confident that my Master will keep me from coming to harm. These two do not have that same assurance. 

Reynard shoves the second asset toward the bed, and he stumbles. He catches himself on the mattress, and then awkwardly pulls himself up and lays on his back. He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to clear the fog from his mind. He knows he should be afraid, but he’s not together enough to do anything about it. 

Master Zeke reaches out and lays gentle fingers at the boy’s collarbone, and then trails them slowly down the asset’s chest. Wet, blue doe-eyes lock on my Master, and the boy relaxes somewhat. Master holds the boy’s gaze, drawing senseless patterns on the pale skin. 

“This is going to hurt him,” Master comments, not shifting his gaze from the asset. If the boy understands the words, he doesn’t react to them. 

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s entirely the point - it isn’t about his pleasure, it’s about yours.”

Zeke frowns. He doesn’t seem to like this answer, but he doesn’t protest. He gets to his knees, then guides the asset so that he’s on all fours instead of laying on his back.

I’m unsurprised when Zeke says, “Zero, get underneath and distract him.” I’ve helped other assets take Zeke’s cock, and this is typically my role. The fact that this isn’t Zeke’s slave and that Reynard doesn’t seem concerned with the asset’s pleasure doesn’t factor into Zeke’s decisions - not that I thought it would. When there is an option to minimize an asset’s suffering, Zeke always takes it. 

I lay on my back and slide under the blonde. Putting my mouth level with his cock also puts him level with my cock, although the recent orgasm has left my body disinterested in another round. In different circumstances, I might be able to fight that and become erect again quickly, but it doesn’t seem prudent to the current situation. This asset certainly isn’t skilled enough to handle Master Zeke’s cock and mine at the same time. 

I stick my tongue out and lap at the head of his cock, teasing it. The asset gasps, already fully aroused and sensitized. I take his cock into my mouth and suck as Zeke moves behind him. There’s a pause, and I assume that Master Zeke is using his fingers to open the asset, although I can’t see it. It’s a short preparation - because the asset is already prepared as much as he can be? Or because the Dealer is watching, and Zeke can’t give his usual level of consideration? Even I’ve noticed that Zeke holds himself back in front of other owners, tries to appear less emotionally attached and more aloof. 

I can feel the moment that Zeke penetrates him, because that asset’s body tenses up. Zeke pauses and waits for him to relax, but the boy must truly be a novice, because he stays tense. Seconds pass, but nothing changes. Eventually, Zeke presses forward again, eliciting pained mewls from the boy. Zeke doesn’t stop this time, pressing forward until he’s full seated. The asset tries to move away, but Zeke holds his hips in place. 

Zeke begins thrusting. I can feel how shallow and slow the motion is from the way the boy’s cock is pushed against my mouth. Still, despite Zeke’s careful movements, the asset begins to cry softly. His cock remains hard in my mouth despite his obvious distress, confirming my suspicion that he’s been drugged into arousal. Still, he seems little interested in the pleasure of my mouth. 

Zeke’s thrusts quicken. Possibly he’s reached the same conclusion I have: that the asset is not likely to take any enjoyment in this act, and it would be best to get it over quickly. I let the asset’s cock move freely in my mouth, no longer trying to tease and distract him. After a few minutes, I taste salt and feel the gummy sensation of come in my mouth. The asset doesn’t react at all, perhaps not even realizing that his body has reached orgasm while his attention was focused on the pain of Zeke’s penetration. If he gained any pleasure from the act, it was not enough to stop his small, pained noises. 

Eventually, Zeke gives a grunt of completion. It’s not his usual low moan of pleasure, but it seems to indicate that he’s finished. He presses into the asset and stills, then pulls out and rolls to the side. I move out from the asset, who promptly curls into a ball and sobs quietly.

“See what I mean?” Reynard says, still standing at his place beside the bed. “This kind of performance is unacceptable.”

“He needs more training,” Zeke responds, sitting up to face the Dealer. “That was too much.” 

“He won’t get any more consideration than that from clients. Likely less.” Reynard shrugs then, and seems to shift the topic. “Still, he’s learning. He’ll have plenty of opportunities to improve.”

Reynard gestures to the combat asset by the door, and I tense as he approaches.

“Take this one back to his cell,” Reynard says, gesturing to the crying asset. Then to the other one, “You’re dismissed as well.”

The asset on the floor gets up quickly and hurries out the door. The combat asset moves toward the pleasure asset on the bed. Having a potential threat so close to Zeke sets off proximity warnings all over my psyche, and I get to my knees quickly and position myself between the two of them. I’m naked, and there’s still come on my cock and slick between my thighs. My body is still feeling the effects of my orgasm, working against the adrenaline that shoots through me as the combat asset approaches.

I can tell on a logical level that I’m likely overreacting. There have been other combat assets around, and I’ve never considered them a direct threat to Zeke. But there are too many strange things about this situation and Reynard’s behavior. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, and it puts me on edge. 

The combat asset watches me as he approaches, his dark eyes meeting mine, cold and lifeless. I recognize the gaze of someone on suppressants, with emotions buried so far down that it’s almost like a walking death. What else is he on, along with the suppressants? Is he strong enough to be a threat?

The combat asset pauses beside the bed, not reaching for the sobbing blonde. I tense, holding my position in front of Master Zeke. 

“Do you think we should let them fight?” Reynard asks, his voice amused. 

“No,” Zeke responds, tone annoyed. “Zero, that’s enough. Back up.”

It takes a moment, but I force myself to obey, shifting back until I’m beside Zeke and further away from Reynard’s assets. It leaves Zeke more vulnerable to attack, but the combat asset doesn’t take the opening. Instead, he shifts his attention to the blonde, pulling the smaller asset over his shoulder, then turning and leaving the room. 

“ _ Quite _ protective,” Reynard comments. 

“Irritatingly so, at times,” Zeke responds, turning to dangle his legs over the side of the bed. His pants are crumpled on the floor within arms reach, and Zeke begins to dress. I force the tension from my body, now that the threat is gone. 

“I can see why you’re so attached to him,” Reynard says. “Your zero. Obedient but autonomous, subservient but willful. It makes him stand out.”

“I’ve always thought so.”

“He needs more training, though. That alone won’t cut it in the Competition. Incubus can show you what I mean. He’s got the experience for it. If you’re stubborn enough to try your zero in the Competition, Incubus can at least help train.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Zeke says, buttoning his shirt. His tone is cordial, but I can tell that this interaction has irritated and unnerved him. 

Reynard resumes his seat and picks up his drink, swirling the glass idly. He seems to be thinking about something before finally saying, “If things don’t work out with Incubus, you can always bring him here. I’ll reimburse your costs for him. He was a personal favorite of mine.”

“I thought you didn’t want him. Too much work, I think you said. Too damaged.”

Reynard shrugs. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty. He’d make a good trainer. He’s trained well before. Although I still think that he’s a handful. I’m not sure why you’d want to take on something like that, especially before your first Competition. Seems like a risky gamble.”

Zeke doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Silence lapses past the point of polite response, before Zeke finally says, “I appreciate the offer, but I just got him. I think I’ll take my chances.”

Reynard lifts his glass as if in toast, then takes a drink of it.

Zeke stands and says, “Come, Zero,” as I’m already getting to my feet.

“It’s been a pleasant afternoon,” Zeke says to Reynard, “but I must be getting back.”

“It was nice seeing your skill and your approach to training. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon. And consider letting Carter come out to your ship. If you’re seriously considering the Competition this year, the direct input of a Champion would be invaluable.”

“He’s not the only Champion I know,” Zeke snaps. That scene with Reynard’s asset is affecting his judgement. He’s tense and angry, and some of it is spilling into his interactions.

“You mean Dillon?” Reynard responds, unphased. “He’s an option, certainly, but his help comes at a steep price. He’ll ask far more from you than that little display you just suffered through.”

So he noticed Zeke’s displeasure, then. It’s hard to tell with Owners, how they’ll interpret things. What they’ll see, what they’ll purposefully overlook, and what they’ll confess to noticing.

“I’ll pay whatever price is necessary to secure my place. I’m not a pawn in this game, and I’ll prove it despite the cost,” Zeke growls, then turns on his heel and storms out the door. 

I see Reynard smirk and lean back in his seat, watching Zeke’s departure through those pink-lensed glasses.  _ Recording _ Zeke’s anger, his unease, his loosely veiled threat and his hasty retreat.

I could take those glasses. Could get them off of Reynard’s face and break them in half before he’d have a chance to stop me. Before Zeke could get back here and stop me. I’d take a punishment, but I’d survive. 

It’s probably too late, though. The images have already been transmitted. Likely they’re stored and backed up in half a dozen places. Perhaps the intended viewer is watching this live from halfway across the planetary sphere. They could be on Earth. They could be here, on Red Seven. They could be no one - this could be for Reynard’s personal reference or future use. It could be anything. 

And it’s too late to stop it now. 

With that thought, I grab my pants and my boots, then hurry to follow my Master. 

In the ship, Zeke gives me time to wipe off my sticky thighs and put on shorts. He lets me pilot us out of Red Seven, sitting in brooding silence in the copilot’s chair. More than an hour later and his body is still tense, his eyes scowling at the ether in front of us. I can’t bring myself to make him put on a harness, knowing it would be a fight in this dark, contrary mood.

“Are you really going to reject Carter’s help?” I ask, remembering the angry conversation with Reynard.

The question needs to be asked. I expect Zeke to snap at me in response, but he sighs and rubs a hand over his eyes instead. 

“No, probably not,” he admits, pulling his hand away. The anger is starting to drain from him, leaving only a tired shell. “I was being spiteful. Carter’s provided me a lot of information - I’d be a fool to turn that down.”

He pauses, then sighs softly.

“Maybe I am a fool,” he says, but I don’t think he meant for me to hear it. He’s staring out the front viewscreen, and doesn’t look at me. 

“Kip and Lee need to be told. Kip primarily. He’ll need to get the two new assets trained for this.”

Their education so far has been primarily skill-based. They’ll need to learn basic etiquette and rules. I know Kip sometimes drops etiquette into his lesson with Red. Ruby is the largest concern. With his belligerent disposition and his impulsive nature, he could put Zeke in a humiliating position. And given Zeke’s inability to control or discipline the willful asset, it could do serious damage to his reputation. Will Carter look down on Zeke if he can’t control his own assets? Or will he merely assume that Zeke is new and inexperienced, and try to guide Zeke on how to be a better Owner? Will this lesson start a transition in Zeke? From the kind, if often inexplicable Master I know, to the type of callous and indifferent Owner that I’ve had before?

There are too many variables in this plan. The stakes are uncertain. Intentions are shrouded and unclear. This was inevitable, but it feels like it’s come too soon and we’re not ready. 

“We’re not ready,” Zeke says. It echoes my thoughts so exactly that I’m momentarily disoriented, trying to parse my thoughts from his words. 

“I’ll have Kip start working on it,” Zeke continues, oblivious to my turmoil. “He’ll need time to work with the younger two. I’ll see if I can put Carter off for a couple more weeks. It’s like a dance I keep doing - chase these deals, then put them off.”

He smiles at his own joke, but it’s a bitter twist of his lips. He’s in a dark mood.

I’m not very good in these situations. Kip is a better source of sympathy, and Lee has a cutting wit that Zeke must find appealing, considering how close they are. I have nothing to offer him as a means of reassurance. I’m afraid downplaying the situation would cause disaster in the long run, but expressing my own concerns would only deepen this mood he’s in. Having him brooding and melancholic will only worsen things. I have to…

A proximity alarm pings, and then another. I slow our speed immediately, while dozens of objects begin to appear on the navigation screens. 

“Buckle your harness,” I tell Zeke firmly, fighting to lower our speed while pulling us away from the worst of the debris. 

“What is it?” Zeke asks, but I’m gratified to hear him buckling in as he says it. 

“Meteoroid cloud, it looks like,” I tell him as the small rocks of various sizes begin to appear on the view screen. Our shielding can take care of the smallest ones, and I work to navigate us around the larger ones.

“Is that expected?”

“No,” I reply, but keep my eyes focused on the viewscreen and the radar. “This should all be open space. It looks like something crashed into an asteroid and threw debris everywhere.”

It happens occasionally. Space itself is vast, but the area near the Earth’s orbit has become cluttered with human residue. Derelict ships, jettisoned garbage, or even a piece of an old space station, which flourished in this area before Satellites became the norm. It’s strange for any of these items to have the right trajectory and velocity to impact an asteroid hard enough to break it apart, although not impossible. Uncommon, though.

What is more common is for an active ship to lose steering or thrust and accidentally impact another object. The resulting explosion could cause this type of debris scatter. However, such an accident would be reported to the local Satellite’s transportation division, which would put out a warning to any local ships. I have a feed running from the three closest Satellites, and no incidents were logged.

“Should we go back?” Zeke asks. 

“It’s risky,” I tell him, watching the radar. “The cloud is closing in. What’s behind us is thicker than what’s coming in front.” 

From what I can see on the screens, the cloud is coming in almost like a spray. Definitely looks like something impacted and set the whole thing in motion. 

“I can try to go back,” I tell him, calculating our chances in my head, “but there’s a sixty percent chance we won’t manage. The rocks behind us are too large, and they’re coming in too fast. If we don’t make it to the Satellite, our ship’s barriers won’t hold.”

Satellites have very good shielding, both to protect them from space debris and from other Satellites, although that particular threat has been dormant for the better part of a century. 

“And if we go forward?” Master Zeke asks. 

“Our shields can handle the smaller pieces, and I can navigate us around the rest. We will sustain some damage. How much will depend on how much further the cloud extends. At current mass and density, I estimate eighty percent survival rate.”

“Navigate us through, then. I’d rather be home than stuck at Red Seven any longer.”

“I understand,” I acknowledge, tapping the thrusters just enough to miss an oven-sized piece of rock that would definitely have made it past our shielding. “Brace yourself to turbulence.”

“Okay,” Zeke says softly. I cast a glance at him to see that he’s leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and laying his head against the headrest. He looks calm, even though we’re about to cross a veritable minefield. 

But Zeke seems perfectly content with laying back, and trusting me to get him home safely. 


	8. Workout - Dodger POV

By early evening, Zero and Master Zeke aren’t back yet. I don’t see anything particularly wrong with that - Owners tend to spend a long time when they go to Red Seven, staying the night or even a couple days. Kip and Lee seem uneasy about it, though, with both of them tense and fidgety.

I’m restless as well, but that’s nothing new. My body has finally reached the stage in recovery where I’m too damaged to do much, but too healed to sleep all the time. Lee has pretty much weaned me off of painkillers, so I’m sore and achy, but those are manageable complaints. If I could get a kit, if I could do something about my face, maybe I’d be confident enough to start trying to pursue the Master. Or maybe not. At no point during my stay here has he reacted in any way as I expected him to. With sex off the table for the moment, I’m not sure how to manage him. 

It’s been harder than I expected, to be honest.

I roll onto my back, trying to tune out Kip and Lee’s low discourse about some extremely boring text that they seem fascinated by. Honestly, would it kill the two of them to watch a movie? Talk about some drama? Have a little fun? All work and no play is not very fucking fun for me to watch. Damnit.

I let my mind wander. My most pressing thought being: So what do I know about this situation so far?

Zeke fucks Zero pretty much exclusively. Zero still trains as a combat asset, but he accompanies the Master as a pleasure asset. Zero is still registered as a pleasure asset.

Kip isn’t used as a pleasure asset anymore, although he might still be registered as one. The Master still holds some affection for him, not sure if the Master still fucks him or not. Kip doesn’t get taken into public spheres anymore - not that it’s an option, with that eye. Kip functions as the head domestic. Kip is also training as a scholar, which makes sense. A lot of domestics are smarter than people give them credit for, so it can be an easy transition. 

Lee is obviously the Master’s scholar. He’s also probably a combat asset - I remember Lee having some crazy martial arts skills back at BloodSports. Lee seems a lot more tolerant of this owner than the one he had when I was with him, probably because Master Zeke’s slaves have a higher quality of living than others. Or maybe Lee has just finally mellowed out in his old age, it was bound to happen eventually. 

That leaves the two newbies: combat and pleasure, by the looks of them. The darker asset is kind of redundant, unless Zero or Lee can’t fight, which seems unlikely. The redhead - the pleasure asset - has the looks to do well, but that temperament’s gonna be a bitch to handle. Not looking forward to that. 

So that’s the team, if Zero’s right and Master Zeke is looking to compete this year. Zero and Lee in combat. Kip and Lee scholarly. Kip in domestics. Me ‘n the redhead in pleasure. And the dark-skinned newbie in the spare slot. Two losses in covert, unless Zero is more than he lets on. And a loss in domestics unless the kid can cook, because I sure as hell can’t. 

Not great odds of a win. Hopefully the Master has reasonable expectations, or this could get ugly. 

The door opens - the one that connects the medbay and the cargo hold. Kip and Lee both look up immediately, both tensing with expectation. I’m not sure why they react so strongly; we’d have heard a ship putting in from here. Unsurprisingly, it’s only the newbie. The redhead this time. 

I take a second to look him over, the previous line of thought still fresh in my mind. He’s a rangey lookin’ thing. Still all knees and elbows. A cute face, with a dusting of freckles across his nose. His hair is shorn too short, but it’ll be a nice feature when it grows out. Big, green eyes. He’d make a passable pleasure asset if he’d stop slouching so much. He’s obviously the kind of kid used to ducking attention and dodging bottles. 

We’ll have to break the first instinct. He’ll still need the second, though. 

He’s dressed in ill-fitting clothes. Jeans and a baggy shirt. It could be by design, to make him look young and a bit rebellious. I don’t think so, though. The jeans are too loose at the waist, too narrow at the ankle. The collar of the shirt isn’t right - the neck is too high, and hides his narrow collarbone and shoulders, instead of accentuating them. He just looks like a mess. The clothes are probably from Kip’s stockpile, not specifically designed for the kid. Still, any pleasure asset worth his salt would rather go naked than wear something that so badly hides and undermines his attributes. 

Damn, this kid’s gonna be a lot of work. 

He puts his hands in his pockets, locking out his elbows. Still slouching, kicking his feet in obvious reluctance. What’s he after?

He ignores me entirely, instead glancing at Lee. 

“Zero said to come to you,” the kid says, “if he wasn’t back by evening. Said you could help with my workout.”

Ah. Probably a good idea, to get this kid on an exercise routine. Considering the Master fucks Zero, there’s a pretty high chance that he likes some muscle on his pleasure slaves. I’ll have to work on that myself, once Lee clears me for it.

“Right,” Lee says, seeming flustered. “Of course. Let me wrap this up.”

The kid nods once, sullenly. He leans against the counter behind him, bracing his elbows on the top. 

“I have a couple things to do anyway,” Kip says, putting his stylus and his screen in a protective case. “This is probably a good time to break. I’ll see you later.”

That’s weird. Why would Kip see him later? Unless they bunk together? I just assumed they both had separate rooms on this floor, but maybe not. 

“Okay,” Lee says, and turns back to the redhead as Kip heads to the door. “Let’s… What’s this?” he asks, reaching out to touch the newbie’s face. The kid doesn’t flinch away, instead holding still for Lee’s inspection. “What happened here?”

“Busted my lip,” the boy responds. 

There is, in fact, a small split sliver on his bottom lip. I hadn’t noticed it from across the room, but it’s evident now that Lee has pointed it out. The lip is a little swollen, too.

“Yes, I can see the injury. How?”

“...Trainin’,” the boy admits reluctantly. “Had a little bit of time for it before they left. Got in a couple minutes of practice.”

Yeah. With that stubborn attitude? He’s gonna take some hits during training. It’s a good thing, though. The tougher Master Zeke is on him, the easier my job is. I can be his coach, not his enforcer. 

“This isn’t how he’s supposed to be training you,” Lee growls, and at least that’s stayed the same. Lee never did like when owners busted up their assets, property or not.

The kid pulls away, taking a step back from Lee. He hunches more, and I can’t see his expression but I’d peg it for an angry, sullen look. Not in a cute way, either.

“Zero didn’t mean to,” the kid says, his voice softer. “It was an accident.”

Oh. Not the Master training him, then.

“He needs to-”

“I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I moved, and he couldn’t stop.”

Heh. Cracking heads with a guy like Zero is likely to split your lip, that’s for sure. Kid’s lucky he didn’t get a broken nose, too. 

“Fine,” Lee sighs. “Did you ice it?” A nod. “Ice it again later, and let me know if the swelling doesn’t subside.”

The kid nods once, just a jerk of his head, then pushes off the counter and slinks out of the room.

Lee sighs as he watches the figure disappear. Which… same. 

“Dodger, you’re coming along, too,” Lee says. “I’d like to start you on some stretching exercises. Nothing too strenuous.”

“Yes sir!” I respond gleefully, thrilled to be getting back into some kind of workout. My body is just going to mush - it’s not going to be fun for anyone to fuck me at this rate.

I’m still wearing the white, pajama-type clothes, so I don’t bother to change before heading up. Gotta get myself a wardrobe, somehow. Lee doesn’t change either, but when we get to the gym on the middle floor, he heads to the back and disappears. 

That leaves me to survey the gym. It’s a good sized area. Running track along the outside edge, matted area, fighting ring for the combat assets, and some kind of obstacle course in the corner. Probably for Zero to maintain his skills, since he’s something of a specialized combat asset. Ruby is on the matted area, stretching out. I notice that he’s changed into the white pajama-style outfit, like I’m wearing. The look has “mental patient-chic” written all over it. At least mine fits pretty well; his is baggy and loose. I’m starting to wonder if that’s a choice. No, it can’t be. 

I walk over and sink to my knees at the edge, slipping off the black slipper-style shoes that came with my outfit. The kid glances up at me and frowns, then returns his attention to his hamstring stretches. I put my legs out in front of me and reach for my toes, trying to find out how bad of an idea that particular stretch is. It hurts, but not enough to stop.

“You’re Ruby, right?” I ask, keeping my attention on my toes. “Is that a given name, or one the Master stuck you with?”

In my peripheral, I can see him glance up at me, and then back down at the mats. 

“It’s Reubus,” he replies. “Ruby is short.”

I nod in reply, then let it sit. After a couple minutes, he looks up again. 

“What about Dodger?” he says with a scoff. “That real?”

“My momma gave me that name,” I respond with a smirk. “Old family name on Sat 12.”

“Sat… Oh, right. With the weird eyes.”

Would this kid have even been born when Sat 12 went cold? Maybe, but it would be close. It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago, but here’s this kid, summarizing my whole life into, ‘With the weird eyes’.

I hate newbies. 

“The owners call me Incubus.”

“Like the sex demon?”

I grin at him. “Exactly like that.”

“Oh.”

Kid doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with that. 

I’m not really sure what to do with  _ him _ , either. If I’m training him, there’s a lot of shit I’ll need to know, but nobody’s given me the go-ahead to start. I certainly don’t want to step on Zero’s toes, if he’s the one doing it now. And with me not being at full capabilities… where does that leave us? Do I wait to be cleared? Or do I run the risk of seeming useless  _ and _ lazy?

Lee comes back, taking the problem out of my hands. He’s still dressed in black scrubs, but these ones are noticeably worn at the knees and elbows. Obviously reserved for workouts and practice. 

“That’s fine,” he says, nodding to me. “Stretch out, stop if anything hurts. I’ll be over in a few minutes to check in on you.”

I figured as much, so I nod at him. I’m not looking to overdo it and push my recovery further out. Still, it’s just nice to get up and get moving, to feel my body as an extension of my existence again, not just a warehouse for my brain. 

Lee gestures to Ruby and the two of them move toward the fighting ring on the other side of the room. I watch in fascination, my barely-started stretching routine completely forgotten when they both climb into the ring. Ruby falls into a fighting stance, which Lee quickly corrects before falling into a similar stance opposite to him. At a cue I can’t hear, Ruby lunges forward. Lee deflects the blow and sends the kid sprawling, then backs up and lets him try again. 

That’s not… That’s just not fucking fair. 

Not for the obvious reason: that the kid is going to get his ass kicked, which he is. Obviously. Lee is some kind of genius savant, there’s no way this kid can hope to match him. But they’re making him think that he could try, that he could gain enough skills to hold his own against a combat asset, and that’s just… Fuck. Psychologically damaging, is what it is. How am I supposed to break this kid down into a decent pleasure asset if they’re building him up like this? Fuck. 

Okay. Okay. Think it through. Master Zeke fucks Zero. Maybe he just likes this body-type. Maybe training like this is the best way to get the kid into the kind of shape the Master wants. They must have told the kid that. He has to know that this isn’t… That he’s not…

Fuuuuuuuuuck. What are they doing?

I start my stretches again, trying to tune out the two fighters. I can’t keep from frowning, though, my thoughts chasing each other in circles. 

I have a surreal moment of wondering if I could be wrong. Is there something I don’t know? Assets don’t always fit a hundred percent into their designations. Zero and Lee are both small for combat assets. They have skills, though. Zero through rumored genetic modifications, and Lee through his training in martial arts. Does this kid have some kind of secret military background? Is he another science experiment, like Zero? But no, that can’t be it. I saw him come in. I was at the Arcrest Manor when Owner Dillon got his shipment of newbies. Owner Jackson had been trying to sell me, had been giving me the silent treatment since I’d fucked up the Competition. He’d dragged me along when he’d gone to hang out with Owner Carter before the party, and Owner Dillon had taken us down to see the party favors getting “packaged.” He’d just been one of the scared, dumb kids getting hosed down and tied up, shipped off to the guest suites to await his new master. He’d been designated as a pleasure asset. I  _ know _ he was. 

That has to mean that Master Zeke likes muscular guys. It’s fine, there’s a line between “muscular” and “buff” that can be walked, carefully. Owners can have tastes in pleasure assets that are non-standard - everything from particularly tall to muscular to skinny or heavy, even some weirder kinks that I don’t really want to think about - but those pleasure assets are kept as pets, not paraded around. I’m a Competition asset, there are standards that I have to meet. So does the redhead, if he makes it that far. 

I do a couple rounds of stretches, avoiding anything that might strain my abdominal muscles, which unfortunately rules out a lot of my usual routine. It’s enough, though, to finally get my body a little warmed up. It feels great, but I still can’t help but feel like everything is completely fucked up right now. Can’t help but cast confused frowns at the fighting ring every couple of minutes. 

When Lee finally comes over, he chides me for pushing too hard, and I have to plaster a grin back on my face. 

“I’m not, I’m just thinkin’ too hard.”

He frowns at me, his eyes concerned. I note that he hasn’t broken a sweat, although I can hear Ruby panting even though he’s still near the ring.

“Are you alright? Is something causing a flashback?”

Flashb- Oh. Like ‘reliving a trauma’ or some shit. What does he think happened to me in a gym?

“Nah, I’m alright.”

He keeps frowning, looks like there’s something he wants to say, but he bites it back. Glances over at Ruby, then looks back and says, “We have some free weights in the back that I’d like you to work with, if you’re feeling up to it. There wasn’t any damage to your upper body, although you’ll need to stand for this exercise and be careful not to strain your core overly much. I’ll look for some resistance bands, too. I’d like you to build up some strength.”

Well... I guess that pretty much confirms that the Master likes brawny guys, if Lee’s already pushing me to build up some muscle. I grin at him, feeling like he’s doing me a pretty big solid by guiding me in the right direction. 

“Thanks man. Hey, what about-” I nod at Ruby, “-that? Will I be doing that, too?”

Lee blinks at me in surprise. 

“Not any time soon,” he responds. Which, duh. “But if you want to, you may join.”

“I was just thinkin’ it might be a good idea, with my position and everything. Not that I’d be able to match Zero, but since Ruby’s doing it, maybe I should, too?”

That’s pretty clear, right? Without actually saying, “The Master’s fuck-toys fight, since I’m the new fuck-toy, I should learn to fight, too.” Lee probably wouldn’t take that kind of tactless discourse very well. But he’s smart, he’ll get the subtext. 

Lee frowns, and for a minute I think that maybe he  _ isn’t _ going to get it and I  _ am _ going to have to spell it out. Then he finally says, “If you want to learn, I think it would be good for you. But you are safe here, regardless.”

Right. The big guy isn’t going to expect this kind of thing from me right away. He’s actually been really fucking patient, which is giving me no end of anxiety. But if I want to start trying, it’s probably a good idea. “Safe” does not mean “untouchable.” A reprieve is not the same thing as a free pass. 

I’m still at the bottom of the hierarchy, although I’m not sure how, considering my competition is standing across the room, breathing like a horse while Lee has barely broken a sweat.

“I’m game, whenever you think I’m ready,” I respond, smiling at him. “The ball’s in your court, buddy.”

He nods seriously, because almost everything Lee does is studious and serious. I never could get him to unbend, not really. Not even when we were sharing a bed and everything in between, he never took me up on my offers for repayment. I knew he was interested. Lonely as fuck, too. But he never touched me with anything but professionalism, wouldn’t let me distract him from his own heartsickness in the only way I knew how. Even back then, I understood that my value came from what my body could offer. But Lee… he refused to deal in that currency. 

“I’ll grab the free weights and the resistance bands. Take a break and get a drink. It might take me a couple minutes; I’m not sure where they are.”

I nod, and Lee heads through a set of doors - probably the locker room - to retrieve the items. I push myself to my feet, feeling a slight twinge in my lower back, and then walk over to the small fridge at the side of the room and retrieve a bottle of water. I take a drink, then walk slowly over to where Ruby’s standing by the training ring. 

Ruby has stopped gasping, but still looks like a sweaty mess. Thankfully the Master isn’t around. I’ll have to be careful - he seems to like to pop up everywhere, I can’t have him catching me when I’m sweaty and gross. Bad enough he’s seen me sick, bare-faced, and on my back. I guess it can’t get much worse than that, but… still. 

Ruby gives me the side eye as I lean against the fighting ring. I gotta get on the right footing with this kid, make sure our positions are clear. Everything’s so fucking loose and uncertain with this Master. That’s the problem with inexperienced owners; they just kind of leave you on your own to figure it out. 

I take a sip of my water and then cap the bottle, not looking at Ruby as I say, “Lee kicked your ass out there.”

In my peripheral, I can see him glance at me, his eyes narrowed in a glare. 

“Yeah. So?”

“Bet Zero would wipe the floor with you.”

He doesn’t respond - which is a reply in itself. 

“So what?” he says after a beat, shifting his weight forward.

“Just trying to figure out your deal,” I reply, and turn to look at him. I let my eyes run down the length of him. He takes a step back, uncomfortable with my scrutiny. 

“What deal?”

“Like… why you’re here.”

“They’re trainin’ me.”

“Psh,” I scoff. “You don’t really buy that you’re gonna be a combat asset, do you?”

Silence.

Shit. 

“C’mon,” I try. “Really?” Nothing, but he gets a shifty look. He’s had enough experience to know that when something seems too good to be true, it’s probably fake. 

Damn. How to go about this?

“Why would he need you for combat?” I ask slowly. “When he already has Zero and Lee?”

The kid looks at his feet. Bites his lip, then flinches ‘cause it’s still split. Shrugs again. 

I sigh and lean my head back, trying to find patience in the artificial lighting above us.

“Listen,” I try again, “you like it here, right? This Master’s pretty low on the Sadistic Fuck scale. There’s a lot of nice shit, and if nothing else the food’s good. You like the other newbie - I’ve seen the way you make eyes at him.” And  _ that’s  _ something that the Master probably needs to put a stop to, but I’m not on solid enough footing yet to interfere. Assets can sometimes fuck, if the owner is okay with that, but they don’t get to form attachments. That just makes no end of trouble for everyone. “So you want to stick around here, right?”

He doesn’t respond for a long time, sullenly keeping his head down, hands clenched into fists. I wait him out, though, and eventually he mutters, “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Then you gotta find something to offer. Everything’s a trade, right? That’s the first rule.”

If you’ve got nothing to offer, you offer what you’ve got.

“He’s already got combat assets,” I point out. 

“He’s already got pleasure assets,” the boy counters angrily.

“Who? Zero? Kip? Zero’s a glorified pet - he doesn’t have the body type to compete. And Kip doesn’t have a chance with that eye, plus he’s training as a scholar now. So it’s just you and me, kid.”

There’s a pause, and I can feel a shift in the kid. I’m getting through to him.

“Zeke said he won’t make me do that,” Ruby says at a whisper.

“Yeah, probably because you were being a bitch about it.” New owners sometimes don’t have it in them to train new assets for pleasure. That’s probably why Zero is training Ruby - Master Zeke doesn’t have a taste for it. “He might not force himself on you, but you really think he’s going to keep you around forever if you’re not doing anything for him? You’re useless right now.”

Lee comes back, weights in his hand and resistance bands tucked under his arm. I push myself away from the fighting ring and start walking toward the matting.

“Think about it,” I comment, not looking back at him. 

Lee meets me at the mat and gets me started on another set of workouts. I should be offended by how easy they are - Five pound weights? Really? - but I’m so weak that I have to take breaks in between reps. The resistance bands are almost too much for me to handle, and it’s just a glorified rubber band.

I hear Lee get back into the ring with Ruby. The sound of padded fists colliding, Ruby’s panting breaths. I try to focus on my breathing and my steadily increasing heart rate. 

It strikes me then, that I haven’t really figured out where the last asset plays into this. Red, the large, dark-skinned asset who looks like a combat asset but helps Kip in the kitchen. He’s too big for pleasure or domestic, unless Zeke’s just keeping him as a pet. I’d pegged him as a combat asset, but in that he’s just as useless as Ruby. He has to be occupying the spare slot, doesn’t he? Does that mean they’re not bothering to train him? Just sit him in the spare slot and… nothing? Or is the Master getting ready to offload him, even now?

Poor kid. It’s not easy for combat assets. The shitty ones don’t last very long. 

We don’t train for too much longer, probably less than an hour. Lee says something about Ruby losing focus, then sends the kid to the showers. He takes the weights from me, has me sit and rest while he takes a quick shower and changes back into his nicer scrubs. I hang out and wait for him, wondering if I’m tired enough to skip my own shower. I managed to break a sweat, but just barely. Not really something to worry about unless I’m seeing the Master. Of course, he does just pop in when he feels like it. Hmm… Better not take the chance. 

Lee comes back and escorts me back to the freight elevator. I don’t know if he thinks I’m going to faint or something, but he walks beside me the whole time. I feel fine, though. There’s an aching soreness in my lower back, but that’s pretty much a constant at this point. I can’t quite sit on my ass yet, mostly because of the bruising to my thighs and tailbone. Sometimes if I move too quick, I get a stabbing pain that shoots through my gut and makes me double over. As a list of complaints, though, it’s a hell of a lot better than it was before. 

We get to the cargo bay and step out of the elevator, crossing the docking area to get back to the medbay. We’ve made it about halfway across the area when an alarm begins to sound and warning lights start flashing near the perimeter of the cargo bay. That noise means that the bay area needs cleared of personnel immediately, as there’s a craft coming in hot that may or may not be able to fully control its landing. 

And there’s only one craft due back right now. 


	9. Jump Ship Return - Dodger POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of the readers on Discord have hinted that they would like longer chapters. This piece was originally split into two separate updates, but I've been assured that this was "too mean" and "cruel." Whaaaaat? I would never. ;)
> 
> Anyway, they convinced me to put it out as one longer chapter for your enjoyment. 
> 
> If you want to join the discussion, you can always jump over to Discord. I know I haven't been as active on AO3 as I usually am, but I do read and appreciate all the comments. 
> 
> Thanks so much, and enjoy!
> 
> https://discord.gg/TYbdFUU

The helm is usually midship on this kind of boat, which means second floor. Cargo bay is in the rear, cockpit in the front. The freight elevator is too damn slow, so I bolt for the stairs. I feel an immediate twinge of protest; my body does  _ not _ like the idea of running, but I like the idea of being smashed to smithereens even less, so I push through. I hear Lee call my name, then his feet join mine on the stairs. He grabs for my wrist, but I’m still a quick little shit and I pull away. Hot coals are tumbling in my stomach now, but it still feels like burning and not tearing. I think I’ll be okay.

Stairs are bad. They make my abdomen feel like everything’s going to start falling out, and my head swims. I do better on the straightaway, where I can ignore the pain. Bolting down the hall, I can only hope that this isn’t one of those weird, custom jobs, where the cockpit is on the very top or underneath it or something. 

But no, the door at the end of the hall opens to a small-ish room. Two seats, large view-window, and a dashboard of buttons, monitors, and screens. And a very panicked-looking blonde sitting right in the middle of it. 

“Hey hot stuff,” I quip, dropping myself into the copilot chair beside him. “What’s shakin’?”

Kip turns worried silver eyes on me. 

“Master Zeke’s ship is putting out a distress signal. He’s coming in too fast.”

“Okay. Can you pull it up on the screen?”

He nods, and his fingers dance over the keys. The formerly-gorgeous, now somewhat dented jump ship appears in front of us. It’s dinged up all over, at least half the thrusters are completely out, the remaining ones are going full blast to get back here. The ship looks like it’s flying slightly cockeyed, and leaving a gray trail in its wake. I give a low whistle of dismay. Somebody did a number on it, that’s for sure.

“I’m not a pilot,” Kip says in a panicked voice. “I only know the basics of this. How to radio and monitor, how to open the bay doors.”

“It’s nothing,” I tell him, trying to keep him calm as I survey the buttons. Even in a newer model like this, most of the readouts and controls are similar enough that I can understand them. “If you’ve handled one ship, you’ve handled them all.”

That’s not true by a long shot. Kip doesn’t look like he buys it either. However, he doesn’t protest. I glance over the dashboard looking for flight controls. There’s no wheel or stick, meaning the whole thing’s digital, which fucking sucks. You just can’t get the same responsiveness from digital controls as you can from manual. 

Bet the jump ship has a stick. Lucky bastards. 

Well… maybe not so lucky. We’ll find out.

I manage to pull up readings on velocity and trajectory. I might be shit with most stuff, but I can manage some basic maths. The jump ship is moving fast, heading just over our heads. That’s probably on purpose. The safest bet is to let them overshoot us. We can deploy tethers to their ship and pull them back in safely. That’s not without its risks, though. We could miss, and there’s only so many times we can try again before they’ll get pulled into Earth’s gravity field. Or we could accidentally damage one of the thrusters during the tethering, which would make the whole situation worse. Even if it goes to plan and we score a hit on the body of the ship, it’s still dangerous. Depending on how badly the jump ship is damaged, the tethers could rip it to pieces. 

The idea of getting sold  _ again _ so soon makes my chest tighten. Not to mention the fact that Zero would fucking die, and I’m pretty sure he saved my life a couple times, so… Yeah. Not doin’ that. 

I pull up the controls and get the ship to start shifting us around. Kip sees me moving our craft into a collision path with theirs and frowns at me. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. “They’re going to smash right into us.”

“Nah. We’re gonna flip around, see? They’ll come up right into the cargo bay.”

“They’re going too fast for that!”

“We’ll match speed with them, give them some extra time to slow down. Look,” I gesture to the image of their ship on the screen, “they’ve still got three, maybe four undamaged thrusters.” Out of what looks like eight. “They should be able to slow down if we give them extra room. The hull took the worst of the beating.”

“That’s a risky plan,” Lee says, and I jump at his voice. I’d forgotten all about him in the excitement, and now he’s leaning over my chair. “Isn’t there another way?”

“They were trying to overshoot us,” Kip responds. “We have tethers that we can launch. They’ll magnetize to the hull of the jump ship and then we can pull them in.”

“Yeah,  _ if _ you manage to hit them and  _ if _ the ship is stable enough, maybe you can pull them in. It’ll take time. You see that hull? It looks pretty okay from here, but I’ll bet if you get close it looks like swiss cheese. They’re probably already in evac suits. Shielding has to be at ten percent or less. That trail they’re leaving behind them? That’s not smoke, it’s oxygen and coolant.”

“You think they’re running out of air?” Lee asks, alarmed.

“Why else would they be hauling ass like that? If waiting were an option, they could have told us to come pick them up.”

I don’t know that for sure. Some owners can be nuts about dumb shit. This could be some kind of macho bullshit from Master Zeke, but it doesn’t seem likely. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to put his life on the line just to prove how big his dick is. Pretty sure his dick’s big enough that he doesn’t need to. 

“So what’s the plan?” Kip asks, his voice determined. 

“We’ll get this ship flipped around so they’re coming up behind us. Match speed. Slow down carefully and let them crawl into the cargo bay. Then we trigger the magnetics in the floor. That slows them down to a safer speed, minimizes the damage.”

“Will it work?” Lee asks, looking to Kip now. The blonde bites his lip. 

“It might. I don’t…” he hesitates, looking upset. “I don’t have enough skill to manage it, though.”

“‘S fine, I got it,” I respond, pushing a confidence into my voice that I don’t feel. “I could pilot this thing with my eyes shut.”

“I’d prefer that you didn’t,” Lee responds, as dour as ever.

“Take all the fun out of it, why dontcha?” I grumble, but my fingers are already moving over the keys, hitting the acceleration. “Can I pilot this thing from outside the cockpit?” I ask Kip.

“You should be able to. You won’t have all these readouts,” fucking good, they’re damned annoying, “but you can access the controls and the viewscreen from any of the wall panels. Why?”

“We’re only going to have a couple seconds to do this right, so I need to get as close as I can to it. I’ll access the wall panel in the cargo bay and take control. I’m assuming that you can’t get communication with the ship?”

“No, other than the emergency signal, but that’s a broadrange blast. It’s not on the comms channel.”

“Probably knocked something loose in the modules. Keep trying - they might be able to hear you even if you can’t hear them. Tell them to slow it down, if they can.”

“And if they can’t?”

“Then we’ll continue with plan A until we need a plan B.”

Plan B is… the tethers? Probably won’t work, could kill them. Have them bail out of the craft? It’s risky. The evac suits don’t offer much in the way of protection. At that velocity, we’ve got a better chance of smearing them across the hull than getting them inside. And the jump ship is too little to come with an Emergency Capsule, or they’d already be in it. 

“How much time do we have?” Kip asks.

“At this speed? Maybe ten minutes before they get to us.” I can feel the ship accelerating already, but we’re a lot bigger and less maneuverable. It takes longer to get our craft going. 

“Okay,” Kip says, turning toward the monitors. He presses a button, and I hear him start calling to Zeke and Zero over the frequency even as I turn away from the cockpit and sprint for the door. 

I’m barely in the hall when Lee catches my wrist and pulls me to a stop. 

“What the fuck, man?” I snap. 

“Walk,” he demands. 

“But-”

“You said you have ten minutes before they get here. You’ve probably already pulled your stitches. I’m not letting you do more damage if it can be avoided.”

There’s an angry, stabbing pain on my lower right side, where Lee stitched me shut after surgery. There’s a slight wetness there, too, but not enough to make me concerned. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but apparently I’m not the only one who noticed. 

“Fine,” I grumble, letting him fall into pace beside me. He lets me move at a brisk pace, and even lets me take the stairs again instead of the cargo elevator. He doesn’t let me run, though, despite how much my heart is pounding in my chest. It’s probably a good thing. By the time we reach the cargo bay, my heart isn’t going quite so fast, although I can still feel adrenaline singing in my veins.

When we get to the outer wall of the cargo bay, I open the hatch from the wall panel, revealing a scattering of stars and a smoky gray line pointing to the incoming ship. The protective shielding holds back the black vacuum of space. Technically, we could leave it like this indefinitely, open and exposed. The shielding does most of the work of protecting us - it’s why ECs can manage. The ship is mostly propulsion and life support, plus fuel for the shielding. 

Most people find staring into the open void unnerving, so ships are designed to be sealed up like a tin can. The void doesn’t bother me, though. There were plenty of places on Sat 12 where it was open like this. We didn’t have the funds for psychological barriers. You got used to it, or you grew up not knowing it was weird. It was fine. 

Until it wasn’t.

I train my eyes on the jump ship through the open hatch, and magnify the view on the wall panel’s screen. 

“You get any response from them?” I ask Kip through the comms. 

“Nothing,” he responds. Shit. I don’t let myself think about the worst possibility - that the ship is on autopilot, with no one left to man the controls. 

“Keep trying.”

I pull up the digital controls for propulsion on our ship, making small adjustments to get us lined up with them and going at a similar speed. I turn the nose of our craft up a bit, matching their trajectory. I feel the shift in this rig, but it’s fucking slow. 

“Damn these controls,” I grumble. “I’d have better luck getting out and pushing this boat.”

“It’s a residential class ship,” Kip returns. “It’s not supposed to do doughnuts.”

“I could make it do a doughnut if I had a fucking stick,” I respond. “It’s these damn digital controls.”

“I’ll make a note to get that fixed for you.”

I grin at the wall panel. “You do that!”

The banter helps keep me calm. Does Kip know that it helps me? He certainly seems willing to play along. Not sure if it’s helping him at all. It certainly isn’t doing anything for Lee, who’s silent as a statue behind me.

I watch the ship outside creep closer. To the onlooker, it appears to be moving very slowly, but I’m aware that this is because both of us are moving very quickly. We are moving slightly less quickly than they are, letting them get incrementally closer while I fight with these shitty, slow controls to stay perfectly aligned with them.

Still no change from the approaching ship. No sign that they can hear us, or that there’s anyone inside. 

The ship is close now. If we were in an atmosphere bubble, it would be close enough for someone to leap from here to there, but that would be stupid in current cicumstances. Close enough that I can see the dark scores and tears in the cherry red paint of the smaller ship. It doesn’t quite look like swiss cheese, although it’s too close for comfort. That would be fine if they still had the shielding, of course, but then the hull wouldn’t look like that if the shields hadn’t been knocked out. Too much circular thinking. 

The gashes and damage are totally random. Small pings in some places, fist-sized holes in others. Some created dents, while others scored the sides with long lines of damage and still others slammed right through. It’s a relief, actually. If this had been an attack, there would be more uniformity to the damage. This looks like space debris. Very dangerous for a small ship to fly through, but less of a threat to our larger, better shielded craft. 

The nose of the jump ship presses against our shielding, within arm’s reach of the cargo bay. I cue our ship to give them access, and the shielding melts like liquid to let them through.

Now’s when it gets tricky. 

Sweat trickles down the nape of my neck, sliding down the hollow of my back. The cotton pajama top sticks to my skin in some places, billows in the air currents in others. I’m hot and chilled at the same time. How long has it been since I’ve done this? Ten years, if not more? Maybe five since I had an owner who’d get drunk enough to pass out with the autopilot on, letting me sneak some time at the helm. Longer still since I was dumb enough to confess to the skill, with naive notions of being allowed to pilot. A couple quick trips since then, when I’d managed suck off combat assets in exchange for time at the helm. But I haven’t piloted something this size since I was a kid. And never this exactly, never mating two crafts with one so heavily damaged. Momentum and velocity are tricky in space, without the steadying pull of a planet or satellite. When things go wrong, they tend to do so more quickly, and in a much more destructive fashion. 

Doubts creep in, but I push them down. We’re all just walking corpses anyway, right? What’s the worst that can happen? I shave another year or two off of my life. Lee’s had a good run. Kip’s not gonna manage with another owner, not with that eye the way it is. I’m probably doing a favor for the two newbies. 

Zero’s got a lot of time left on his clock, though. And I owe him twice over. Shit.

The nose of the jump ship breaches the cargo bay, but it’s coming in too high. If Zero’s alive in there, he must not have any control at all, because it’s a lot easier for him to lower the jump ship than it is for me to raise this boat. I do it, though, incrementally reducing the upper thrusters and increasing the bottom. Their ship dips down slowly, like it’s floating to the floor. The landing gear doesn’t deploy - not that I’d had much hope. I level out the thrusters again so that the jump ship doesn’t bang against the floor. It hovers at about two feet, slowly drifting inside the larger ship. It looks so fucking casual. My jaw is clenched so hard that I hear my teeth grinding as I watch it.

The body of the ship is just coming in when the left side thrusters start to sputter and die. The ship twists, and the right side tips violently toward the ceiling, the wing scoring the floor above. Metal shrieks against metal. The tip of the left side wing - the one shoved toward the floor at this angle - bends and buckles until it’s flat against the floor. The left side thrusters come back on, pushing the whole craft forward at the same bad angle. The ship inches forward, shrieking and spitting sparks while it does.

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, fighting with the main ship’s stabalizers to keep steady. Our ship wants to veer in response, which would likely tip them loose. Their craft is perched precariously in the mouth of the cargo bay, making slow headway on getting inside.

“Can you pull back and try again?” Lee’s voice asks from behind me. 

I could increase our speed and tip them out. But “try again” isn’t an option in that scenario, not with how badly the craft is damaged at this stage. So I cut our speed down to nothing, reversing the thrusters to force them inside. 

“No second chances!” I snarl, my vision narrowing to the scope of my controls and the ship that I’m trying to mate with ours. 

The smaller craft jerks forward. The tip of the top wing snaps off, and the craft smashes belly-first into the floor. Without the ceiling holding it back, the jump ship jerks forward, squealing across the cargo bay floor. I cut the main ship’s momentum, then cue the magnetics even though the jump ship’s tail is still hanging outside. No way this thing will be pulled to an immediate stop, not with the thrusters still pushing it forward. The smaller ship fights against the sudden downward pull of the magnetics, and the main ship groans at the effort. The magnetics are tied to the ship’s frame, but they won’t hold at the risk of destabilizing the hull’s integrity.

The jump ship is stubborn, with two thrusters still going full blast and two sputtering in and out sporadically, making the ship buck and jerk. It crawls across the floor like a living thing, scuttling toward the heart of our craft. 

The cargo bay is a pretty large area. It could fit two, maybe three jump ships at a time. Most of that area, though, is in the width. The damaged ship is quickly using up the landing pad, and headed directly for a bulkhead wall. If it gets there - if the thrusters don’t cut out and it impacts with any amount of force - it could destabilize the whole ship. 

I crank up our thrusters on the underbelly of the ship, throwing us upward. Our craft makes a sudden ascent, and I’m knocked to my knees as the g-forces hit. I hear Lee hit the floor behind me, less prepared for the sudden shift. I lean against the wall, fighting not to go entirely down. My eyes stay trained on the jump ship. It feels the sudden pressure, too, and I see the underbelly buckle and flatten. The thrusters go white hot as they combat the dual assault of g-forces and magnetics. The ship’s progress slows. I hear a groan of metal as the magnetics fully engage, bringing the smaller ship to a full stop only inches away from the bulkhead. 

I struggle to push myself up enough to reach the controls on the wall panel, cursing the lack of manual controls a second time. With the jump ship’s forward motion arrested, I cut our engines, letting the g-forces die away. The smaller ship’s engines - the two remaining - are still struggling to push. They’ll overheat and explode at this rate, but thankfully the jump ship’s engines still have an emergency cooling system. As soon as they go white-hot, I see a fire-retardant foam burst out from the top, covering the engines. Which is great, because I’m not really sure what my other option would be. A hose and a bucket, maybe? There’s gotta be an extinguisher around here somewhere, right?

The foam sizzles against the hot metal, sputtering and spraying from the intense heat. It throws a fine, chemical-smelling mist into the air, creating a cloud of vapor. I can see the jump ship’s engines hiss and then sputter, finally overloading and flicking out. The ship becomes abruptly still. It shifts against the floor, settling, and then is silent.

Silent as death?

I glance behind me, checking on Lee. He’s in a crouch, and even as I turn he pushes himself up, bolting toward the craft. I hear Kip’s voice from the wall, but I ignore it as I go after Lee. 

“Hot! It’s too hot!” I yell, as though Lee can’t see steam rising from the craft.

Apparently I didn’t need to worry, though. Before Lee can get more than halfway there, the front door is unceremoniously kicked open. Two figures in evac suits leap out. It’s impossible to see their faces under the sleek emergency helmets, but one is tall and broad while the other is short and lean, so it doesn’t take a genius to peg them. They both move swiftly across the floor, only removing their helmets when they’re a safe distance away from the craft. 

Zero and Master Zeke. 

Alive and apparently unharmed.

The Master grins at me. His blonde hair is disheveled from the evac suit’s helmet, and a bit of it sticks to his sweat-slicked face. I can see adrenaline in that smile. Euphoria at being alive. The room is filled with hot steam, and his ship lays in smoldering wreckage behind him. He reaches his hand toward me to- What? Fucking hug me?

I don’t even know. Because in a show of cosmic humor, my body decides  _ now _ is a great time to puke.

I manage to turn away from them and take a couple steps, before the first heave hits me. I have to bend at the waist and brace my hands on my knees with the force of it. After a heavy breakfast and lunch, I’d had to skip dinner, so there’s thankfully not a lot in there to come up. Wouldn’t that be fucking mortifying?

It takes a couple seconds before I can get it under control. I hear the Master ask, “Is he alright?” from behind me. 

“It’s probably from adrenaline,” Lee responds. “He should be okay.”

“I’m fine!” I manage to call, only to be immediately undercut by another bout of dry heaves.

It takes a couple minutes to get that under control. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, the bitter taste of bile in the back of my throat. Should I leave? I probably look a mess. But then, the Master just watched me try to toss my cookies all over the floor, so how much worse could it really get?

Behind me, Lee has made it all the way to, “You both need to be scanned  _ immediately _ for injuries.”

“We’re fine,” the Master protests as I approach, resuming my place next to Lee with some hesitancy. “Zero narrowed the shielding to the cabin when the engines became damaged. It protected us from most of the fallout.”

Oh. Smart.

“I don’t understand what happened. You-” 

Lee cuts off, glancing toward the inner door as quick footsteps approach us. I glance past Lee to see Kip hurrying across the floor, his face pale and worried. The scarf that covers his bad eye flows behind him as he rushes over. It looks almost the same as the trail of vapor and coolant that the little ship was putting off less than an hour ago. 

“Is everyone alright?” he asks, his good eye surveying the Master and Zero from head to toe. 

“Yes, we’re fine, thanks to you. That was some excellent piloting. I didn’t know you had such skill.”

“No, I-”

“Didn’t know he had it in him!” I crow, throwing my arm over Kip’s shoulders and cutting off his protest. “I told ‘im he could do it!”

“I-... What?” Kip asks, his attention turning to me. I can see the gears clogging in his brain. Too much, too fast. He’s still stuck on seeing if Master Zeke and Zero are okay. 

“What I want to know,” I bully forward, “is what happened? You guys go racing through an asteroid field or something?”

That’d be  _ really _ stupid. I doubt Zero would allow it. 

“We got caught in a meteor cloud,” the Master responds, but he’s frowning now. “There shouldn’t have been anything out there, though. It’s strange…”

“Intentional?” Lee asks, his eyes flicking to Zero quickly. Zero is scowling, but it seems like his normal scowl. Not a, “we’ve been attacked, they’re coming for us,” scowl. Just the low-grade pissed-off that he typically wears. 

“I don’t take the same route twice. Too much risk for ambush.”

Smart choice, if a little paranoid. Not that I blame him. 

“An accidental impact with a meteor - especially one that would create that kind of cloud - should have been logged in the hazard records,” Master Zeke says. “I checked it while we were in the cloud, and there was nothing registered.”

Zero would have checked the logs before they left, as well. If Zero registered their flight plan with the Satellite, its computers would have notified them of the potential collision as well. There’s a lot of variables in space, so there are a lot of safeguards in place to minimize avoidable hazards. 

“Could have been something illegal,” I comment. “You’re not going to submit a report if you’re carrying contraband. And if you’re flying dark and you smear yourself across a comet, no one’s gonna report you gone.”

“I suppose,” Master says, but he’s frowning. “Reynard should have known, though. We didn’t leave him on bad terms, I don’t think. He should have warned us if there were a nearby hazard. Zero, did you log a flight plan before we left Red Seven?”

Zero’s frown turns a bit stubborn. Belligerent. 

“A fake one,” Zero responds. “I don’t trust Reynard.”

This boy’s genius-level smart. On par with Lee.

“What else is out that way?” I ask, trying to bring up the location in my mind. The satellites keep a rough orbit around the Earth, meaning they’re always moving and the map is constantly shifting. Depending on what else is close, there could be other factors involved. Red Seven isn’t known for contraband, but a few of the other satellites are. 

Zero hesitates. Silence falls for several seconds, and I’m not quite sure why that question required such a dramatic pause. 

Then, “There were no other satellites nearby. Just quadrant 12.”

Oh.

“You flew past the Sat 12 memorial?” I ask, keeping my voice light and even. “Well there’s your answer.”

The wreckage of Satellite 12 is still floating out there. Probably because the place is more rust than metal, not worth salvaging. It’s been dubbed the Satellite 12 Memorial. There was some dustup when it went cold about who needed to take responsibility for the cleanup - the Department wasn’t interested, so a coalition of local satellites went in and cleared the bodies, sealed up the place. I’m told that some bigwig tethered a pretty nice park to the wreckage, put up some flowers and benches. Made a stone wall and etched all the residents’ names into it. My mom’s name is in there somewhere, not that I’ve ever had a chance to see it. Mine too, probably.

“It’s… vacant,” Zero says, his voice tense. I wave my hand dismissively. 

“Shit’s been falling off of that thing since forever. A pebble probably hit it and the whole north quarter fell off. It’s not like anybody’s alive to do maintenance.”

The Master takes a step back, stumbling like he tripped, although he hadn’t been moving. I see a look of pain flash across his face, quickly schooled back into something more neutral. What the fuck?

“Come,” Lee says, moving to the Master’s side, guiding him away from us. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Zero, see to Dodger. I need to examine Z-... the Master.”

Weird on weird with this place. 

I glance at Zero as Lee and Master Zeke disappear into the medbay. Kip is still with us, oddly quiet since his arrival. 

“Well?” I ask, sliding next to Zero with a grin so that I can nudge him in the shoulder. “You gonna see t’ me?”

His eyes fixed on the smouldering wreckage, he responds with, “You’re fine.”

I laugh, probably more from nerves than humor. I’m still pretty hyped. Haven’t had time to come down from all the excitement. 

“Awe, thanks man,” I tease. “You look fine, too.” 

“You’re bleeding,” Kip points out, annoyed. It’s like a splash of cold water, and I take a step back from Zero at the same time that he turns to face me. My eyes scan Zero’s form for injuries, but it’s hard to tell with the dark, form fitting material of the evac suit. Can’t see anything obvious, though. 

Meanwhile, his eyes have fixed somewhere around my middle and- Oh, right. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

My hand comes up and I self consciously cover the little patch of blood on my shirt. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much.

Kip gives an exasperated huff and moves into my space, saying, “Let me see,” even as he tugs my shirt up. Between him and Lee, I’m getting pretty used to this kind of treatment, so I don’t protest as he handles me. 

There’s a line of partially-mended skin under my shirt, evidence of the surgery that Lee performed on me when I first arrived. A row of plastic-looking sutures still hold it shut, although the gash itself is mostly healed, showing the pink lines of a newly formed scar. Gonna have to get that taken care of soon, it looks like some kind of fuckin’ frankenstein creation. Blood has crusted around the edges of a couple of the stitches; the ones on the outside, that would have pulled the most when I moved. The gash itself still looks fine, though. Sealed and pink and fucking ugly, but fine. 

Kip kneels in front of me, despite the dirty and damp floor. His good eye peers at the sutures, his fingers brushing some drying blood away from them so he can get a better look. 

“I think you just pulled the stitches,” he says, confirming what I already knew. He sits back, then stands. His off-white pants are dirty from the knee to the ankle, probably ruined. That kind of thing might catch a beating from the master, but Kip doesn’t seem to notice. The way Master Zeke dotes on him, I have to assume that it won’t get him punished.

Silence falls between us. It’s kind of awkward. Kip seems agitated, but maybe it’s the near-death situation that has him in a mood. Zero’s a stone wall, as usual. I’m still basically buzzing. I could really use a dance floor and a good beat, although I’m gonna feel like hell in a couple hours, when I come down off this high. 

Still… that’s a couple hours from now…

“Okay,” I say with a clap of my hands. “Well, it’s been fun, but I gotta… be somewhere else.”

I spin on my heel, heading out of the cargo bay and toward… I don’t really know. There’s gotta be music here somewhere, right?

“Dodger!” Kip says sharply. I turn back around and find him frowning. Ah. Okay, then. He is annoyed with me. The fuck did I even do? Maybe it’s the attitude. I’m told I can be annoying in a crisis.

“What is it, small fry?” I ask, giving him a patented grin. 

“What was that, back there?”

“What was what?”

“About… About the ship maneuvers.”

Ah. With Master Zeke.

“Yeah… sorry about that.” I try to give him my most bashful look. “I didn’t mean to toss you under it, I just saw the opening and couldn’t pass it up. I appreciate you covering for me.”

“Covering… You  _ saved  _ him! You saved them both!”

“You did the piloting?” Zero asks, putting it together. I wave my hand. 

“I picked up some piloting skills when I was a kid. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal, though! Why did you let me take credit for that?”

Now it’s my turn to get annoyed. How dense are these guys?

“Owners don’t want a pleasure asset for anything but fucking. You show them the kind of reach you have, and you get your hand smacked. You get me?”

“Zeke isn’t like that.”

“ _ Master _ Zeke owns my ass. Pardon me if I want to keep it safe.”

Silence again, and now Kip looks uncertain. Fuck, this isn’t what I want to be doing right now. I want to be three shots deep on a dance floor, not giving a reality check to somebody that’s a far sight smarter than me. But everything is so fucked here. 

“...Right,” Kip says quietly. “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t agree that Master Zeke would have been upset to learn that you can pilot, but it’s not my place to tell you how to keep yourself safe.”

Zero looks troubled, but says nothing. I try to shrug it off.

“It’s fine.” I play with a piece of rubble on the floor, pushing it with the toe of my dumb-little-slipper-thing. “I don’t know this master too well, maybe he wouldn’t have been mad.” Although mad isn’t usually the problem. ‘Suddenly distrustful and suspicious that I’ll bolt’ is typically the problem. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you before I did it.”

Kip takes a step back. 

“I confined Ruby and Red in their quarters when all of this started,” he says. “I need to go let them out and give them an update on the situation.” He turns to Zero. “Can you stay with Dodger? I think he’s okay, but I’d like someone with him just in case.”

Zero nods, and then Kip leaves, heading down the corridor past the medbay. That’s usually crew housing, although in the Leash it’s more typically where the assets sleep. Not that I’d know, considering Lee still has me living in the medbay. He’s got to let me out eventually, right? He’s not  _ that _ much of a control freak.

Speaking of which, Lee and Master Zeke are still occupying the medbay. Disturbing one of Lee’s exams seems like a bad idea, but where the hell else am I supposed to go?

Zero starts walking away from me. Given a lack of better options, I follow him at a safe, casual distance. He heads around the outside of the cargo bay, toward the outer hull wall. There’s a little alcove near the entrance that stores the maintenance machinery - not that we’ll be needing it any time soon. The cargo bay is wrecked, and the jump ship is toast. We’re gonna need to dock for these repairs, and I doubt there’s much to do about the jump ship. Shame. It was a nice piece. 

Zero turns to face me as we enter the alcove. There’s a kiss of danger in the air, which still smells like leaking coolant and burning metal. Zero’s posture is relaxed and open, but I can see the intensity in his gunmetal eyes, glinting like a cat’s even in the darkened alcove. The tight fabric of the evac suit makes it easy to read his body, but not to interpret it. What’s he got in mind? If he didn’t want me here, surely he’d tell me to fuck off, right?

Damn him, but that sense of danger is intoxicating. I take a step forward, unaware that I’m doing it until my foot hits the ground. The second step is a choice, though. I  _ want _ that. Want to play in that danger, want to feel fire on my skin. 

Anything. Anything to feel alive again. To feel like an animal, instead of a piece of the furniture. Anything is an upgrade from that. Even pain. He could break me, if he wanted to. I don’t know him well enough to know that he won’t, not in this mood. But it’s worth the risk. It’s not even a calculation: I don’t think I could stop myself from going to him if I tried. 

When I get in range, Zero’s hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, tugging me toward him. I stumble and open my mouth to protest, but then his lips are pressed against mine, hot and fierce and exhilarating. His hands move to my elbows, supporting me as I find my footing. 

I melt against him. It’s like pressing myself against steel. He lets me mold myself to him, lets me put my arms around his shoulders and grip on.

His tongue darts into my mouth, plundering. I let him act as the aggressor for a moment, but it’s too tempting. My tongue dances with his, pushing into his mouth when he retreats. He allows it, seeming only more turned on by my aggression. Not interested in a passive, submissive fuck, then. 

He tastes like salt and fire. Sweat, and smoke from where the two ships collided and dragged. The distinctly sweet scent of engine coolant; the low viscosity brand that they use in the jump ships. Can I still name the label? I could once. 

Fuck me. It tastes like freedom. 

His arms move from my elbows and wrap around my torso, pulling us flush against each other. In the jump suit, there’s no hiding that reaction. Not that I’d want him to. It’s been - what? Two weeks? Since my last orgasm. And a long dry spell before that, while I was considered a prize. My body is mostly healed by this point, and my cock reacts eagerly. Even the pain in my side from the pulled stitches is negligible, and easily ignored in favor of more appealing sensations. 

And, of course, Zero’s fucking hot - all mean and lean, fucking dangerous. So, so fuckable. The type of guy that appeals to me on a primal level, down where the animal lives. It would be so easy to get carried away with him. Forget all this other bullshit and just live it. Consequences be damned.

Of course, I’d be the one bearing the consequences, so… better not. 

I pull my mouth away from him, feeling his breath against my face. We’re both panting, adrenaline pulsing in our veins. 

“I don’t know what I’m capable of right now,” I warn him, “but I’m willing to try to find something that won’t make Lee throw a bitch fit, if you are.”

He shoves me back, and I take a stumbling step until I run into a wall. It stings of rejection for a moment, and then Zero is on his knees in front of me. He yanks the loose, cotton pants down to my thighs, pausing only briefly to survey the damage to my right side, where the stitches pulled. It’s superficial, though. Even I can tell that. 

Then he’s got his mouth around my semi-hard shaft and - Fuck! I can’t remember the last time someone did this for me. No, wait. Maybe it was him. 

All thoughts disappear as he swallows my shaft, pressing until his lips are around the base. There’s nothing but the feel of his mouth and the blanket of open stars that I can see over his shoulder, through damaged and still open cargo bay doors. One hand comes up and cups my balls, rolling them in his fist. The other settles on my thigh, steadying me as I let the wall take most of my weight. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” I gasp, feeling pleasure surging through me, white hot against the leftover adrenaline and excitement. 

He bobs his head shallowly, barely raising his mouth up my cock before going back down. It gives a hot, intense blowjob, a steady building of pleasure instead of an immediate release. I groan, my legs feeling weak under me. The wall must be supporting me totally by now, assisted only by my hands on Zero’s shoulders. 

He’s fucking good. There’s a natural talent in being able to read body language. In being able to notice the subtle visual and audible cues that the body puts out. The way I lean back against the wall. The way my hands clutch at his shoulders, and my hips jerk in tiny, stifled movements, wanting to encourage but unwilling to choke him. The way I keen - yeah, I know I’m doing it - as I get closer to completion. 

Zero notices all of that, just as naturally as breathing.

Orgasm hits me and whites out my vision. I don’t scream, but I can’t help a strangled cry of triumph. Shit. Hopefully nobody else noticed - I’m not sure this is kosher with the boss. 

My climax goes on forever. I can feel Zero still sucking me, feel him swallow my come. I spill down his throat, and the image of him watching me from his knees, his mouth stretched around my cock, will be forever carved into my memory. Whenever I need to get a hard-on real fast, I’ll pull that baby out and have no problems. 

It ends eventually, and leaves my head spinning. I try to catch my breath and huff, “Gimme a second, I’ll return the favor,” as I pull up my cotton pants to cover my softening cock.

His chuckle is deep and masculine, but not mocking. He pushes himself to his feet and unzips the evac suit, freeing the bulge that was contained within. He’s naked under the stretchy, emergency clothing. Clothing is optional but can be aggravating under the confining material. He must have had time to change before the storm hit.

He says, “I think you’ve done me enough favors for one day,” with a hint of predatory growl, and damn if it doesn’t go straight to my spent cock.

He slides up beside me, leaning against the wall while putting his shoulder against mine. There’s still a light sheen of sweat on him, making his abs look stunning. Just lickable. His cock is half hard already, moderate size and girth. I knew that already, though, from the time he’d fucked me. It’s not always about size, and it certainly isn’t with Zero. What he lacks in pure penile stature, he makes up for in natural talent and physical ability. 

He takes my hand and wraps it around his cock, guiding my strokes for a moment before letting go. A fucking hand-job? It’d be an insult to my skills, if I weren’t feeling the edges of my endurance already. As it is, I might be able to get to my knees for him, but I’m not sure I could get back up. Would probably hurt myself trying it, too. 

Zero lets his eyes close to slits and leans his head against the metal of the outside wall. My hand strokes over the soft skin of his cock, teasing with a twist of my wrist at the tip. It’s been a long time since someone didn’t demand my ass or my mouth, but that doesn't mean I’ve lost all my skills. He’s close, too. Probably has been since we walked over here. I pay attention to his shallow breathing, the way it picks up when I wrap my fist around the head of his cock. I keep it there, rolling the sensitive flesh. I bring a second hand in to work the length of his shaft, keeping my right hand rubbing at the head of his cock. He makes a gasping sound, his hips bucking into my hands. I increase speed and pressure, working him more vigorously. His body tightens, his jaw clenches. I pull my hand away from the head of his cock just in time for it to release a splattering of pearly liquid. I catch most of it on the palm of my hand, with the rest of it dribbling down his length and onto my fist. Zero gives a groan of completion and I release his cock, wiping his come onto my cotton pants. 

Hey, it’s white. And it’s not like my clothes weren’t dirty already. 

Zero pulls the evac suit up to his navel, then slides down the metal wall to sit on the floor. I follow along as though it’s a choice, and not because I’m suddenly too exhausted to do anything else. 

“Fuck, man,” I tell him with a grin. “Remind me to do you more favors, then. Any goddamned time!”

He lets out a bark of honest laughter, surprised into a true reaction. 

He’s prettier when he smiles. 

I really, really like his smile.

It’s the kind of smile that makes me make bad decisions. 

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.


	10. Dreaming - Zero POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> Just a quick note: There's a reference to the Shopping District in this chapter. This was originally Satellite 39 but I've changed it to be Satellite 28. I haven't had time to re-upload the chapters to AO3, so it's going to show as out of sync. However, I am aware of it and I have made the changes (that I could find) in my source documents. 
> 
> Sorry about the confusion, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Dodger has nightmares. 

Given his history, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t. 

When they come, they are surprisingly quiet. Were I not in the cot beside him, I wouldn’t have noticed. Even then, it’s only because I am an exceptionally light sleeper. Dodger, surprisingly, is also a light sleeper, and I have to be careful when I get up to check the ship’s alarms and monitors in the night. It wasn’t a problem his first week here, when Lee kept him sedated enough that my movements didn’t wake him. Neither did the dreams seem to bother him. Only once the narcotics began to leave his system did either issue arise. 

His nightmares are quiet. This is probably an acquired trait, born of necessity. Pleasure assets are sometimes kept in an owner’s bed for prolonged periods. I can only assume that the owner would not take kindly to being awakened by an asset’s thrashing or cries.

The tell for Dodger’s nightmares is a hitch in his breathing, followed by shallow, panicked breaths. He pulls his arms closer to his chest, his fists clutching whatever they can find; blankets, or occasionally the hem of his shirt. His breathing will stop for several seconds while his chest heaves, as though he’s trying to take a breath. After fifteen to twenty seconds of this, he will resume breathing. Sometimes, he rouses himself during this phase, sitting up abruptly and gasping for breath. Other times, he will remain asleep, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth and rolling onto his side.

My initial thought was that I should rouse him from these dreams as quickly as possible. However, in actual practice, this was not the best case. Touching him mid-dream would cause him to lash out to the point that he would need to be restrained until he calmed. In the early stages of his withdrawal, this would end in a crying jag. I attribute this mostly to the drugs, as the behavior tapered off in direct correlation with the lowering of his medications. Crying was replaced with curses and anger, although he seemed more in control of the aggression outside of the initial, panic-driven outburst.

Once he was fully awake, he would be nervous and anxious, unable to go back to sleep for at least an hour. Often, he would ask that I let him up, a request that became less in my power to deny as his body healed and he regained self-sufficiency. By his own admission, the intended purpose of this venture was to, “get into some mischief” and “be less fucking bored all the time. Seriously, what do you people do for fun?” I don’t know what he’d actually attempt if I were to let him wander. Although his attitude is casual and humorous, he has shown himself to be uncertain about his place here and nervous around Master Zeke. I doubt that he would do anything to risk the anger of his new owner. 

Even without letting him get up and wander, he would remain awake for at least an hour, and then sleep fitfully after. This resulted in a lethargic, irritable Dodger the next morning, when Lee and I would swap our positions. It was less than ideal for multiple reasons, including the fact that I would invariably have to deal with an irritated, aggravated Lee by the time we sparred in the evening.

This outcome needs to be avoided as much as possible. 

I’ve found that if I’m very cautious, I can pull him out of the dream without waking him. This method usually requires me to stay very still during the early stages of the dream. I have to let the dream run at least one cycle before I can call to him. A normal tone of voice works best. Whispers will rouse him just as quickly as movement or a loud voice. A moderate volume and even tone works best, waking him enough to come out of the dream but not enough to fully emerge from sleep. 

His dreams have decreased in frequency recently. There’s a possibility that some of them were caused by one of the drugs in his system. There’s also a possibility that he’s becoming more settled and secure in his surroundings, making him less anxious and less prone to nightmares. 

However, given today’s excitement, I’m not surprised when Dodger begins to murmur and choke soon after the two of us settle down for sleep. If the stress from the jump ship’s emergency landing wasn’t enough to trigger his dreams, then the emotional fallout from our haphazard sexual encounter probably pushed his psyche over the edge. 

I wait through the quick, panicked breathing of the early phase, then the complete silence of the choking phase. Only after he’s taken a hissing, desperate breath do I call out to him. 

“Dodger,” I call, keeping my voice at a normal, even volume. “You’re safe.”

He makes a startled, grunting noise, and for a moment I think that it didn’t work, that he’s fully awake, but then he rolls over on his side. He’s facing toward me, with his eyes still closed. If he were fully awake, he would immediately sit up and look around, assessing the danger level in the room. 

“Z’ro?” he asks. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to me while being half asleep. He’s never mentioned the exchanges so I doubt that he’s conscious enough to remember, but he is able to form somewhat slurred sentences. 

“Yes.”

“C’n you make sure the oxygen pumps keep runnin’?”

“Yes.”

“Momma s’ys someday they’ll quit ‘n this piece a j’nk. Y’ think so?”

“No. I’ll make sure they don’t.”

“Th’nks.”

He slides his hand under his pillow and settles, his other hand laying on top of the covers. His breathing evens out in true sleep again.

That was more than his typical mumbles, and more coherent as well. Although I’d suspected that the dreams were of this nature, I hadn’t expected them to go so far back. It’s probably telling that this fear haunts him more than all the other traumas he’s received since.

I close my eyes, knowing that it will be several hours before the cycle starts again, if it does at all. In addition to having less dreams, Dodger has been less likely to cycle through multiple rounds of sleep disturbances. My convenient excuses for staying with him are dwindling, although no one else is aware. And Dodger is healing; it won’t be long before Lee releases him from the medbay. What then? Will he join the others in Zeke’s bed? Is he ready for that?

Am I?

I try to doze, but sleep eludes me. I find myself looking at Dodger, his face lax in sleep. He’s healing. His face has recovered its color, and doesn’t look so gaunt. Eating solids and a balanced diet will help as well, now that he’s been cleared for it.

External wounds are healing. What about the ones beneath? He’s proven today that he doesn’t trust Zeke, that he will lie if he thinks it will protect him. Kip had the same coping mechanism when he was still learning to trust Zeke. 

That feels so long ago now. It wasn’t; Zeke has only been an owner for a few months, so the length of time is based only on perception. Things change rapidly here, and we adapt quickly. It feels slow, though. There’s an underlying current of urgency, like we’re headed toward a deadline.

Why? The Competition is only months away, but… there will be another. What happens after? What if we win? What if we don’t? What are Zeke’s plans for us? Do we continue drifting between Satellites forever, isolated and protected in our home craft? I wouldn’t mind that, but it seems like a naive fantasy. A dream, when life has often proven itself a nightmare. 

Dodger has settled back into sleep, his breathing even and deep. 

I reach my hand across the gap between our two beds and gently brush his fingers. His eyelids flutter. Even that light touch is enough to wake him, but he doesn’t startle this time. Sleep clears from his expression and his eyes focus on me. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Bad dream?”

“Yes,” I respond. I don’t specify whose.

“S’ okay. We all get them.”

I don’t, actually. Possibly as a side effect of the suppressants that I was on, I do not dream. Or if I do, I don’t remember. I sometimes wake agitated and excitable, but I don’t know if that’s a true signifier of dreaming.

He pushes himself back, then taps the part of the bed that’s unoccupied. The bedrails are down - he’s well past needing them - so I slide out of my bed and into his. It’s a tight fit, not particularly comfortable for two adult males. Still, Dodger twines his body with mine in a way that is almost psychically in tune with my desires. He lays his weight along my side, resting his head on my shoulder as I put an arm under him. His feet brush my ankles, his legs bent and one thigh laying on my legs to accomplish this.

It’s not as though I never get physical affection. Kip will curl up with me at any time, but his demeanor is reserved. He likes to have me curl around him, touching without actually twining. Zeke is the opposite, and prefers to pull me on top of him, which I enjoy better during sex and less so during sleep. Lee has just gotten to the point that he can sleep with another person touching him.

Dodger is pleasantly uninhibited with his physical affection, at least in our interactions. His extensive experience as a pleasure asset might lend itself to this trait. It’s difficult to tell what has been cultivated and what is naturally part of his personality. Regardless, I pull him closer, enjoying the feel of his body against mine. He shifts without hesitation, leaning more of his weight against me.

“That whole thing today must have been pretty scary,” he comments softly. 

It was. Not because of the threat to my life, but because Zeke was with me. When I hold him in my charge, I also hold the lives of everyone else aboard this ship. If anything were to happen to Zeke, there is a slim likelihood that the rest of us could survive in the Leash. Kip would not be purchased due to his obvious defect and known medical condition. I would die violently, likely after a short stint at the BloodSports Arena. Someone would attempt to salvage Lee, but he was at the end of his rope when he came to us. It’s very likely that he would resort back to his original plan of slow death by self-starvation. The two teenagers would be split up. I have no doubt that they would fight to find each other again, resulting in their eventual deaths. And Dodger? Would Reynard take him, or Leonid? Would he survive the pleasure dealer’s callous treatment, or the artist’s rageful temper?

“We survived,” I respond, then meet Dodger’s eyes. “Thanks in large part to you.”

“Honestly,” he says with a small smile, “it was kind of nice. Not the ‘possible death’ part, but feeling like I’m useful for something other than fucking. You know?”

I don’t know. But then-

“What am I talking about?” he says. “Of course you don’t. You’re like a Swiss army man. You’ve got a skill for everything.”

Do I?

“I’m terrible in the kitchen,” I tell him. “Kip won’t even let me make sandwiches anymore.”

He huffs a laugh, sleepy and soft. 

“Who cares? I spent most of my childhood living off of packet noodles. I think all this nutrition stuff is bullshit.”

“Mm.”

That doesn’t sound scientifically sound, but I also don’t want to argue.

“It’s cool that the Master lets you pilot. I mean, I guess it’s something combat assets usually do. The better trained ones, anyway. So it’s understandable that you’d have the skills for it.”

“Master Zeke would let you pilot, if you expressed an interest. I think Kip is right about that.”

“Hasn’t worked out so great for me in the past, but… Maybe. I dunno. It’s just so weird here.”

“How so?”

“Like… the Master is so casual about stuff. Like… Take the training, for example. Does he even set the schedules up? Does Kip? Who the fuck’s in charge? And like… it’s just weird.”

Who  _ did _ set up the schedules? They just sort of happened. I followed at least part of my original daily schedule, Kip likely followed his. We adapted as we added responsibilities, like training the teenagers or learning from Lee. Zeke… never really had a hand in that, unless he thought we were overdoing it. 

“And then he pops up everywhere,” Dodger continues, “but, like… He’s not checking up on you. He’s not making sure you’re working hard enough, or doing the right thing. Nobody stops what they’re doing or tenses up about it. He’s just there. Like furniture. Like one of us. But he’s  _ not _ one of us!”

Isn’t he? It feels like a long time since I was working against Zeke. Since he was on the other side of the them-versus-us line. Somewhere along the way, he stepped over the line. And then it became us against the rest of the Leash. But Zeke is a part of that, too. So where does that put him? Straddling the line? Or faking it well on one side or the other? And which side is he faking it for?

“You don’t know him very well,” I respond. The topic is making me… uncomfortable. “Zeke is just… different.”

“Che,” Dodger says, closing his eyes. “They all seem ‘different’ at first. Then you get to know them, and it’s the same poison in a different wrapper.”

His voice is bitter. We’re talking about someone specific, then. Should I press for more information? No. Not right now. I don’t want to spur an argument with him. I should let him get back to sleep. 

“Give him a chance,” I say softly, instead of the questions that are biting at my lips. “It’s worth it.” I think so, at least.

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice soft. Despite the uncomfortable position, he’s falling back to sleep. “I don’t think I have any chances left to give.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I whisper, but I think he’s already sleeping. His breathing evens out, soft and deep. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his soft breath against my shoulder. I find myself relaxing and slipping into sleep, despite my intention to leave quietly and return to my own bed. 

When I wake next, it’s to my body’s internal clock telling me that it’s morning. Dodger is sprawled on top of me, having shifted at some point during the night. His eyes flick open as I start to move, and then he gives a dramatic groan and rolls onto his side, returning almost immediately to sleep. 

Dodger is not a morning person. 

I get up from the bed despite my body’s protests - a night sharing the narrow bed has left me sore at the lower back and hips. Still, it’s nothing that a hot shower won’t fix, and I feel rested despite the pain. 

Kip will be down in a little bit to prod Dodger awake. When Dodger was still weak from his ordeal, it was a transfer of care. Now it’s more of a habit. 

I fall back on my routine, letting the day flow around me. Shower. A couple laps around the running circle in the gym. Breakfast. Kip brings Dodger up, and Lee comes in without Zeke. Dodger casts a nervous look at the door, then turns back to his plate. Scrambled eggs this morning. Applesauce. Toast with butter and jelly. Kip has toned down the pomp a bit - it seems the other day was a special occasion. 

My own breakfast is scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage, fresh salsa and herbs. It’s more than I need, but Kip doesn’t like when I only consume protein shakes and ration bars. 

The two teens are animated, talking excitedly about yesterday’s near-disaster. Red more than Ruby, his large hands gesticulating while he both talks about the wreckage in the cargo bay and chops onions at the same time. His knife skills have improved. He chops fluidly, like the utensil is connected to his body. He seems to forget that it’s not as he talks, and gestures with a sweeping arm movement as he describes the scene. Kip has to chide him to be careful, making the larger asset blush, his expression abashed.

Quiet settles in the room. Lee is on Doder’s other side, eating his usual porridge. Kip bobs around the kitchen, helping the two teens with their morning chores. Knowing Kip, they’ve both been fed already, and will probably be fed again before lunch. Ruby seems to eat every few minutes now, his body desperately trying to acclimate to its vigorous new exercise routine. 

A lull in conversation, with only the sound of Red’s chopping - he’s moved away from onions now, and onto carrots - and the clatter of eating utensils. Comfortable silence, it stretches for some time. My eyes are drawn to Dodger, who’s staring into his applesauce like it might decode a message for him. A slight frown on his face, his eyes distant.

Abruptly, his head jerks up, casting his gaze around until his eyes land on Kip. 

“Are we headed for Sat 28?” Dodger asks. 

Kip blinks, surprised by the abrupt question. He pauses for a moment - he’d been artfully slicing strawberries, standing on the other side of the counter where Dodger is eating - glancing up as he answers.

“Yes, of course we are.”

Satellite 28 - also sometimes called the Shopping District - is a hub of commerce. We stop there every few weeks for supplies.

“Not just for a supply pickup? We have to actually dock?”

“Yes,” Kip says, turning his attention back to his work. “We’ll need repairs to the main ship, as well as seeing if the jump ship can be fixed.”

“So, like… whose cock do I have to suck to get myself a new kit?”

“I can get that for you,” Kip says.

“Oh yeah?” Dodger asks, and grins at the blonde. Throws in a wink for good measure when Kip glances up again. It takes Kip a moment, his expression confused, before he manages to grasp the innuendo. 

“What… No! Not- You don’t have to-”

“Stop being crude,” Lee chides. 

“Hey, I offered!” Dodger defends. “And I’m a man of my word. Well, when it comes to sex, at least.”

“You don’t need to bribe me to get the necessities,” Kip says, frowning. The strawberries are forgotten. “Besides, what happened to the stuff I brought you? I thought you could manage with that?”

“Oh sweetie,” Dodger sighs. “That base was so gold you could use it to pay ransom. I don’t know who’s been using it, but it’s going to make me look like one of your gold-plated little edibles.”

“There were other ones…”

“Zero’s makeup isn’t going to cut it for me either - he’s too dark. And I’d rather go bare-faced than wear bad makeup.” He makes a face. “Although not by much.”

“Okay, we’ll get you one.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a pain. I-”

“No, no. We’re really not set up for a pleasure asset. I should have planned for this when Master Zeke showed interest in buying one.”

“Usually I’d just take my kit with me, but…” Dodger toys with his spoon, stirring it in his empty applesauce container. “Well, it wasn’t really an option last time.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Dodger drops his spoon to the table with a clatter. He leans forward on his elbows, giving Kip a grin. 

“What I’m saying is, I would really appreciate it if you’d get me a new kit, so I can turn this ugly mug into something that an owner would pay to fuck.”

Another silence, this one longer and awkward. 

The two teens look uncomfortable, and a worried glance passes between them. It hasn’t been long since Ruby was supposed to be in Dodger’s place, functioning as Zeke’s pleasure asset. That idea… was ill-advised, to say the least. Ruby’s personality is not suited for such a role, and trying to force him into it weighed too heavily on Master Zeke. 

Besides, Ruby can’t match Dodger for skill or natural talent.

“Dodger,” Lee sighs, breaking the tension. “Can’t you manage five minutes without resorting to foul language?”

Lee doesn’t usually have a problem with Dodger’s cursing. It seems like he’s trying to pull the conversation to safer ground. 

“Che. Not all of us had the fancy learn’n like you did,” Dodger counters, but throws in a teasing wink. “Some of us have to get by on our wits and our looks.” He smirks cheekily. “I manage on one out of two.”

“It’s fine,” I comment from his other side. “Once you have a kit, you’ll be able to fix your face and get back to two out of two.”

Dodger’s head whips around. He gives me a startled look, that I meet with a flat stare. He looks ready to get offended, color rising to his cheeks, so I let a smirk play on my lips. His eyes dart to my mouth and linger there. A flash of understanding, and then he throws his head back and laughs. 

“Damn, score one for the soldier boy!” he laughs, pushing his elbow into my ribs. I allow it; the familiarity between the two of us lets me translate the act as unthreatening.

It was a joke. It was also a calculated comment, meant to evaluate how he’d react to the implication that he’s smarter than he is pretty. The results show that he puts a lot of value on his appearance. He’d had an emotional reaction to the implication that his looks are subpar, but he’d essentially called himself stupid. It follows a growing pattern that I’ve noticed, of Dodger depreciating himself in every aspect except his capacity as a pleasure asset. 

Concerning.

The door opens just as the moment is winding down, and Zeke enters the room. Dodger tenses beside me, as he always does when Zeke is present. With this fixation on his own looks, I have to hope that Dodger will start relaxing around Zeke once he’s able to camouflage himself again. I can’t imagine that he’ll be able to function well as a pleasure asset if he constantly reacts to his Master in this way. 

Zeke casts his eyes around the room. He looks unusually tense. There are circles under his eyes - a sleepless night for him as well? It hits me with a sharp pang of guilt, both because my failure likely caused this, and because I chose not to stay and deal with the aftermath. I went and helped Dodger instead, choosing one over the other.

Will it always be to Zeke’s detriment? Have I abandoned him in favor of Dodger?

“Where…” Zeke trails, just as Red returns from the back of the kitchen, carrying a box of fruit. “Good, everyone’s here.”

Zeke leans against the counter, but does not sit. Kip places a mug of coffee in front of him, but Zeke doesn’t glance at it. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, looking strangely stressed. This seems like a stronger reaction than a sleepless night would warrant. 

“I have an announcement to make,” Zeke says. Dodger tenses further beside me, his back straightening. I hear Kip and the teenagers stop what they’re doing to listen. A glance at Lee shows that he’s frowning as well. A surprise to all of us, then. 

“Carter… Owner Powers contacted me last night. He has offered his expertise in Competition training. As a Champion, his input is invaluable if we hope to compete this year. I’ve accepted, and we’ve agreed that he’ll come visit us here at the end of next week.”

This week has barely started, so that gives almost a full two weeks before the visit.

Zeke hesitates, his eyes straying to Kip, then to the two teens. 

“Kip, I’ll be relying on you heavily in this matter. We’ve never had another owner onboard for an extended period of time like this. In addition, Ruby and Red have been largely insulated from the Leash culture. They’ll need training in manners and expectations.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll start today.”

“Thank you,” Zeke responds, then seems to hesitate. He blinks slowly, almost as if it pains him, then says, “I am quite… casual about my approach to being a Master. I don’t think that Carter would approve. For the duration of his visit, I will need to be more formal in our interactions.”

Dodger makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a laugh. He ducks his head, obviously trying to control himself. Zeke glances at him for a moment, but then chooses to let it go. He turns to me instead. 

“Zero, can I speak with you privately?”

He turns without waiting for my nod, knowing that I’ll follow. I slide down from my stool at the bar, leaving my empty bowl on the bar. I follow Zeke into the hall and down a ways, until he comes to a stop. He turns, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Is there any way that Satellite 17 could have picked up our emergency signal?”

I frown. Satellite 17 - also known as Red Seven - is where we left prior to hitting the meteor cloud. I run the distance calculations in my head. By the time I’d realized the danger, we’d been too far in to go back. Our transmissions had been damaged, meaning we couldn’t communicate with them directly. The emergency signal has a weak beacon. It should have been too far of a distance for them to receive the beacon, but under the right circumstances it might have been possible. 

“It’s unlikely,” I respond, “but not impossible.”

Zeke sighs, and raises his hand to rub at his eyes. He drops it a moment later, turning a red-rimmed gaze on me. 

“Carter knows about the accident. He claims that Reynard notified him. That Reynard received our beacon last night, but by the time it had come through, we’d already docked our ship.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“I don’t know what to think. That meteor shower had awfully convenient timing. It could have been an attack.”

“They didn’t know where we were. I specifically didn’t follow the path that I submitted, to avoid such an attack. We went well around any direct and expected route on our return trip.”

Zeke contemplates this for a moment. Seems to roll it around in his head, looking at all the possibilities. 

“Do you think that could be a contributing factor?”

“What could?”

“That we weren’t supposed to be there. Perhaps the meteor shower was expected but our presence was an accident.”

“To what end?”

“I’m not sure. But what’s more likely? That we both stumbled into an unexpected debris cloud with no known source, and that conditions perfectly aligned to allow our distress signal to reach Red Seven from such a distance? Or that we’ve accidentally stumbled into something going on behind the scenes?”

Out of the two, the second does seem more likely. Especially given the area.

“Something like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s a contraband route now. One of the ships could have hit something, refused to report it because of the illegal cargo. That would give a reason for Reynard to have eyes in that area.”

“But why pass the info to Carter? Why not contact you directly?”

“Carter is more interested in me. Reynard only got in touch as a favor to him. Perhaps it wasn’t worth Reynard’s effort. Or maybe he thought Carter would prefer to be the one to reach out.”

“Maybe,” I respond, but it’s weak. There’s too much uncertainty here, too many motivations that we don’t know.

“Carter seemed upset by the idea that I might have been hurt. Said that it was his fault for pushing the meeting, and offered to help me purchase a new jump ship or repair the damaged one.”

“That’s a lot of guilt for an accident.”

“Somehow he’s found out that the insurance adjustor is giving me some issues with my coverage. Seems that straying from the logged flight plan limits their liability.”

That hadn’t factored into my rationale behind diverting from our original course. I’ll have to keep that in mind for the future.

“You don’t think he was involved in the incident?”

“I didn’t say that. But maybe not - maybe he just feels bad about the situation. Or maybe it’s just another excuse to get closer to me. Dillon has been a bit jealous about my affections. It’s possible that Carter wants to get close to me just to needle him. The two have some kind of rivalry, from what I can tell.”

The intricacies between owners are lost on me. It’s all double-speak and innuendo. They’re all threats and enemies in my eyes. Only the risk they pose at any given moment changes. 

“Regardless,” Zeke says, stepping back as he closes the discussion. “We don’t know anything definitive at this point. Best to play along under the assumption of benign motivations.”

That’s probably the only thing we can know for sure is a lie - that no one’s motivations are benign here.

When I return to the kitchen, the dishes have been cleared. Kip, Red, and Lee are missing. I heard someone leave as Zeke and I were talking, probably Lee. Kip and Red are probably in the back, with Kip training Red in some domestic item. It’s not all cooking, although that’s typically the most obvious part, and the aspect where Kip shows the most talent. 

Ruby and Dodger are still in the kitchen. The water is running for Ruby to clean up breakfast, but Ruby’s back is to the sink. He’s facing Dodger, who has moved around to the other side, and is leaning his back against the breakfast counter. Dodger’s saying something, but I can’t make out the words over the running water, and his back is to me so I can’t read his lips.

Ruby looks furious. He glances up as I walk in, his eyes bright and angry. He lowers his eyes just as quickly, turns and jerks the water to a stop. He shoves away from the sink. Dodger turns and follows the red head with his eyes as the younger boy storms out. I move aside to let him pass.

As the door closes, I look to Dodger. He meets my gaze, face neutral. 

“What did you say to him?” I ask, feeling oddly defensive of the boy. Ruby is an asshole, but he’s also my student. He’s my problem. 

Dodger shrugs, pushes himself away from the counter and puts his hands in his pockets. 

“Just talk, nothing much. Trying to give him some friendly advice, one asset to another. Your boy’s a little sensitive, you know?”

Is he? Ruby can be temperamental, but he’s not overly sensitive. Or maybe that’s just my experience. Ruby is careful around me, even now. We rarely talk, and never engage in idle conversation. Maybe this is an aspect of his personality that I’ve never experienced. 

Dodger moves forward, sauntering past me. There’s something aggressive about his stance, despite his casual attitude. Something predatory. 

“Things are about to get interesting,” he throws over his shoulder as he passes me. 

“Yes,” I say softly as the door closes behind Dodger. “That much, we agree on.”

Something about that interaction leaves me feeling off. Feeling like there’s a threat that I can’t identify. To Ruby? To Dodger? Or maybe to the standard of life I’ve become accustomed to?

He’s right, though.

Things are changing. 

And no one’s motivations are benign here.


End file.
